FOEAYEES; 


OK, 


THE  RAID  OF  THE  DOG-DAYS, 


BY  W..GILMOKE  SIMMS, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PARTISAN,"  "MELLICHAMPE,"  "KATHARINE  WALTON,' 
"THE  SCOUT,"  "WOODCRAFT,"  "THE  YEMASSEE,"  "GUY  RIVERS,"  ETC. 


CONST.    Hark,  how  our  steeds  for  present  service  neigh  ! 
DAUPHIN.     Mount  them,  and  make  incision  in  their  hides, 

That  their  hot  blood  may  spin  in  English  eyes, 

And  daunt  them  with  superfluous  courage. 

KING  HENRY  THE  FIFTH. 


CMfion, 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  & 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 
1890 


DONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY 

PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS, 
CHICAGO. 


•y-BRAllx? 

:  VERSITY 

OF 

'^LIFORJ^: 


INTRODUCTION. 


HISTORICAL    SUMMARY. 

THE  reader  who  has  done  me  the  honor  to  kaep  progress  wi»,b 
me  in  the  several  journeys  which  I  have  made  into  the  some 
what  obscure  regions  of  our  historical  romance  —  who  has,  in 
brief,  read  my  novels,  the."  Partisan,"  "  Mellichampe,"  "Kath 
arine  Walton,"  and  "  The  Scout,"  will  remember  that  I  have 
endeavored  to  maintain  a  proper  liiptor  vil  connection  among 
these  stories,  corresponding  with  the  several  transitional  periods 
of  the  Revolutionary  war  in  South  Carolina.  While  the  "  Par 
tisan"  opened  the  drama  with  the  fall  of  Charleston,  the  "  Scout" 
closed  with  the  siege  of  "  Ninety-Six  ;"  an  event  which,  though 
it  left  the  victory  in  the  hands  of  the  British,  left  them,  at  the 
same  time,  in  a  condition  of  such  feebleness,  as  to  render  their 
temporary  triumph  of  little  value  to  their  fortunes.  The  post 
was  abandoned  as  soon  as  rescued  from  the  besiegers,  and  Lore 
E-awdon,  apprehensive  of  dangers  which  were  sufficiently  appa 
rent  upon  the  horizon  to  every  veteran  eye,  took  up  his  line  of 
march,  with  all  possible  expedition,  for  the  Low  Country,  and 
the  securities  of  the  seaboard. 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

The  "  Partisan"  closed  with  the  melancholy  defeat  of  the  fiist 
southern  continental  army  under  Gates,  at  Camden.  "Melli- 
champe"  illustrated  the  interval  between  this  event  and  the  arrival 
of  Greene,  with  the  rude  material  for  the  organization  of  a  second 
army  ;  and  was  more  particularly  intended  to  do  honor  to  the 
resolute  and  hardy  patriotism  of  the  scattered  bands  of  patriots 
who  still  maintained  a  predatory  warfare  against  the  foe  among 
the  swamps  and  thickets,  rather  keeping  alive  the  spirit  of  the 
country,  than  operating  decisively  for  its  rescue.  "  The  Scout," 
originally  published  under  the  name  of  "  The  Kinsmen,"  occu 
pied  a  third  period,  when  the  wary  policy  of  Greene  began  to 
make  itself  felt,  in  the  gradual  isolation  and  overthrow  of  the 
detached  posts  and  fortresses  which  the  enemy  had  established 
with  the  view  to  overawe  the  people  in  the  leading  precincts 
of  the  state ;  while  "  Katharine  Walton,"  closing  the  career  of 
certain  parties,  introduced  to  the  reader  by  the  "  Partisan,"  and 
making  complete  the  trilogy  begun  in  that  work,  was  designed 
to  show  the  fluctuations  of  the  contest,  the  spirit  with  which  it 
was  carried  on,  and  to  embody  certain  events  of  great  individual 
interest,  connected  with  the  fortunes  of  persons  not  less  distin 
guished  by  their  individual  worth  of  character,  and  their  influ 
ence  upon  the  general  history,  than  by  the  romantic  circum 
stances  growing  out  of  their  career. 

This  narrative  brought  down  the  record  to  a  period,  when, 
for  the  first  time,  the  British  were  made  to  understand  that  the 
conflict  was  doubtful ;  that  their  conquests  were  insecure,  and 
that,  so  far  from  extending  their  arms  over  the  interior,  it  be 
came  a  question  with  them  whether  they  should  be  able  t 
maintain  their  hold  upon  the  strong  places  of  which  they  h- 
so  long  held  possession.  Their  country-posts  had  mostly  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  the  partisans,  and  such  as  remained  were  mo 
mently  threatened  with  like  fortune.  To  maintain  themselves 
m  Charleston  and  Savannah,  the  necessity  was  pressing  that 
they  should  contract  their  powers,  and  concentrate  their  forces 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY.  5 

Reinforcements  from  Europe  were  hardly  to  be  expected.  The 
British  empire  was  in  a  state  of  exhaustion,  and  the  army  of 
the  invader  was  now  half  made  up  of  the  provincial  loyalists. 

It  is  proposed,  in  the  present  story,  to  resume  the  historical 
narrative  at  this  period ;  making  it  subordinate,  however — as 
has  Leon  the  plan  of  the  preceding  volumes — to  other  events, 
in  which  the  writer  will  naturally  seek  to  illustrate  the  social 
condition  of  the  country,  under  the  influence  of  those  strifes  and 
trials  which  give  vivacity  to  ordinary  circumstances,  and  mark 
with  deeper  Imes,  and  stronger  colors,  and  sterner  tones,  the 
otherwise  common  progress  of  human  hopes  and  fears,  passions 
and  necessities. 

The  operations  of  the  British  in  South  Carolina,  after  the 
abandonment  of  Ninety-Six,  were  contracted  almost  entirely 
within  that  section  of  country,  which  is  enclosed  by  the  San- 
tee,  the  Congaree,  and  Edisto  rivers.  They  were  wholly  con 
centrated  in  the  alluvial  regions,  or  what  is  called  the  Low 
Country.  Here,  E-awdon  proposed  to  keep  his  forces  in  hand, 
ready  for  emergencies,  and  hoped,  undertaking  no  enterprises, 
to  make  a  sufficient  stand  against  the  American  troops.  But, 
even  for  this,  it  was  soon  found  that  his  strength  was  inadequate, 
and  that  Greene  was  confident  enough  to  offer  him  battle  on 
the  Edisto.  With  a  melancholy  instinct,  warning  him  of  humil 
iating  reverses,  Lord  Rawdon  anticipated  the  mortification  of 
final  defeat,  by  yielding  the  command  of  the  army  to  Colonel 
Stewart,  retiring  himself,  after  a  brief  pause  at  Orangeburg,  to 
the  walls  of  Charleston,  where,  he  lingered  only  long  enough 
to  stain  his  good  name  by  the  sanguinary  execution  of  Hayne, 
and  then  departed  for  Europe. 

One  single  farther  statement  will  suffice  to  put  the  reader  in 
possession  of  the  relative  position  of  the  opposing  forces.  The 
numerical  strength  of  Greene  and  Stewart  was  nearly  equal, 
Apart  from  the  garrison  at  Charleston,  and  a  detachment  undei 


INTRODUCTION. 

Colonel  Stewart  may  liave  numbered  from  fifteen  hundred  to 
two  thousand  men ;  that  of  Greene  was  fully  "the  latter  num 
ber,  but  mostly  composed  of  militia.  But,  though  Greene  lacked 
in  regular  infantry,  he  was  more  than  a  match  for  his  opponent 
in  cavalry.  In  this  respect,  he  was  well  served.  There  was 
no  better  cavalry  in  the  world,  and  it  grew  more  numerous 
every  day,  by  accessions  from  the  country  gentry. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  statement,  that  Greene,  though  not 
unwilling  to  fight,  was  yet  in  no  condition  to  invite  the  combat 
except  on  his  own  terms.     For  this,  Rawdon  and  Stewart  were 
equally  unwilling.     Strongly  posted  as  they  were  in  Orange- 
burg,  it  would  have  been  madness  in  Greene  to  have  forced  the 
trial  of  strength  upon  them,  and  Stewart,  left  suddenly  in  com- 
mand,  felt  too  heavily  the  weight  of  responsibility  upon  him,  to 
undertake  any  bold  adventure.      There  were  reasons  for  his 
forbearance,  other  than  his  own  sense  of  responsibility,  which 
sufficiently  excused  his  apathy.     But  these  reasons  will  properly 
find  development  in  the  course  of  our  story.     It  is  then  under 
stood  that  our  narrative  openajit  the  moment  when  Rawdon  is 
preparing  to  yield  the  care  of  the  army  to  the  charge  of  his 
lieutenant,  at  the  moment  when,  approaching  Orangeburg  as  a 
post  of  rest,  after  the  retreat  from  Ninety-Six,  after  the  Aban 
donment  and  destruction  of  Camden,  after  the  loss  of  almost  all 
of  their  posts  in  the  interior,  the  British,  after  an  exhausting 
march,  weary  and  desponding,  are  seeking  to  snatch  a  momen 
tary  rest  from  fatigue  and  danger  — not  willing  to  seek  theii 
foes,  and  scarcely  able  to  cover  themselves  from  pursuit.     They 
were  soon  to  be  strengthened  by  a  body  of  thirteen  hundred  men 
chiefly  loyalists,  under  the  command  of  Cruger,  late  command 
ant  at  the  post  of  Ninety-Six  ;  but  of  his  approach,  as  yet,  they 
knew  but  little,  and  had  every  reason  to  apprehend  that  he 
might  be  cut  off,  burdened  as  was  his  train  by  clc'ids  of  fugitive 
tories,  with  their  families,  from  the  upper  country,  and  followed 
closely  by  Pickens,  one  of  the  most  famous  partisans  of  Carolina 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY.  7 

Nothing,  indeed,  saved  them  but  the  exhausted  condition  of 
Pickens's  cavalry,  which,  to  use  his  own  language,  "  could  nei 
ther  get  up  with  the  enemy,  nor  get  away  from  him."  To  ex 
cuse  the  lack  of  enterprise  in  both  armies,  it  is  only  necessary 
to  add  that  hunger  and  nakedness  were  at  work  among  them. 
Provisions  could  not  be  procured  on  any  terms.  The  country 
was  exhausted ;  and  very  cheerfully  would  both  parties  have 
taken  the  field  for  food,  when  they  would  have  hesitated  to 
do  so  for  more  noble  considerations. 

But  we  may  safely  leave  it  to  the  novelist  to  pursue  the  nar 
rative  in  place  of  the  historian.  Enough  has  been  shown  of 
the  chronicle  to  place  the  reader  in  full  possession  of  the  relative 
strength  and  condition  of  the  contending  forces.  The  Ameri 
cans  are  gaining  confidence  with  every  moment  of  pause ;  the 
British,  gathering  themselves  up  for  the  last  struggle,  prior  to 
their  expulsion  from  a  region,  of  which,  for  a  long  season, 
they  had  enjoyed  the  pleasant  fruits.  Suspense,  anxiety  and 
apprehension,  like  so  many  heavy  clouds,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
long  and  scorching  summer,  hung  over  the  fortunes  of  the  con 
tending  armies,  and  seemed  to  paralyze  their  energies. 

But  the  partisans  have  their  work  to  do  in  spite  of  these  dis 
couraging  influences.  They  were  allowed  no  such  respite  as 
was  accorded  to  the  regular  army,  and  throughout  the  whole 
exhausting  period  of  summer,  their  cavalry  was  kept  in  motion 
startling  the  British  with  incessant  alarms  ;  hovering  about  their 
posts,  snatching  up  their  convoys,  and  occasionally  cutting  off 
their  detachments.  In  this  sort  of  work,  we  find  all  our  great 
captains  of  partisans  equally  engaged,  Marion,  Sumter,  Pickens, 
Lee,  Maham,  Harden,  the  two  Hamptons,  Horry,  Taylor,  and 
many  others.  By  these,  even  under  the  blazing  heats  of  July 
and  August,  the  country  was  literally  swept, .  as  with  a  fiery 
besom,  through  all  that  region  the  boundaries  of  which  have 
already  been  described.  This  was  the  famous  campaign  of 
"  The  .Dog-Days,"  a  season  proverbial  for  the  wonderful  eiidu- 


INTRODUCTION. 


ranee  and  audacity  of  the  partisans,  when  the  regular  troops 
of  neither  army  could  make  a  day's  march,  without  the  loss  oi 
numbers  perishing  from  the  heat.  In  the  retreat  of  Rawdou 
from  Ninety-Six,  more  than  fifty  soldiers  dropped  dead  upon 
the  march;  and  subsequently— but  we  must  not  anticipate. 
We  have  already  trespassed  somewhat,  in  these  slight  glance? 
at  the  province  which  we  propose  to  assign  to  our  story. 


THE    FORAYER8 


CHAPTER   I. 
'BEAM'S  CABIN  IN  THE  SWAMP. 

THE  district  of  Orangeburg,  in  South  Carolina,  constitutes 
one  of  the  second  tier  (from  the  seaboard)  of  the  political  and 
judicial  divisions  or  districts  of  that  state.  It  is  a  vast  plain, 
with  a  surface  almost  unbroken,  in  the  southern  and  western 
portions,  by  elevations  of  any  sort.  In  this  region,  it  is  irri 
gated  by  numerous  watercourses,  rivers,  and  creeks,  that  make 
their  way  through  swamps  of  more  or  less  width  and  density. 
These  are  all  thickly  covered  with  a  wild  and  tangled  forest- 
growth,  skirted  with  great  pines,  and  dwarf-oaks,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  a  vast  variety  of  shrub-trees;  the  foliage  of  which, 
massed  together  by  gadding  vines,  usually  presents,  in  mid 
summer,  the  appearance  of  a  solid  wall,  impervious  to  sight  and 
footstep. 

The  precinct  received  its  first  European  settlers  in  1704. 
These,  originally  the  subjects  of  the  prince  of  Orange,  natural 
ly  conferred  his  name  upon  the  district.  But  the  settlements 
were  not  confined  to  this  people.  Along  the  Santee,  the  Con- 
garee,  and  Edisto,  there  were  Huguenot  and  English  families, 
that  came  in  afterward ;  and,  occasionally,  a  small  group  of 
Scotch,  and  protestant  Irish,  might  be  found,  occupying  tracts 
which  were  comparatively  isolated  from  all  others. 

These  several  settlements  maintained  each  its  original  nation 
al  characteristics ;  and,  even  at  the  opening  of  the  Revolution, 
there  had  been  little  or  no  amalgamation  among  them.  They 

1* 


10 


THE   FORAYERS. 


noenei 


did  not  even  associate;  and  the  only  cementing  agency  which 
they  acknowledged,  bringing  the  several  parties  into  social  re- 
lation,  grew  gradually,  in  the  growth  of  a  native  population 
The  children  of  all  parties  spoke  the  English  language,  and 
this  proved  a  bond  of  union,  in  the  absence  of  other  ties,  of  a 
slrerigth  sufficient  to  neutralize,  in  a  great  degree,  the  original 
antipathies  of  the  parent  stocks. 

-S  ear  the  creeks  and  rivers,  the  settlements  were,  naturally, 
most  numerous  ;  and,  speaking  with  regard  to  the  standard  ac 
knowledged  among  the  people,  these  watercourses  were  com 
paratively  thickly  inhabited.     Along  the  Santee,  for  example, 
•1  the  two  great  lines  of  thoroughfare  from  Charleston  to  the 
•farces,  the  sound  of  a  horn,  in  times  of  danger,  could  bring 
t,  almost  anywhere,  a  score  of  mounted  men  ;  though  we  need 
inform  our  readers,  in  respect  to  a  region  so  lacking  in 
eity  —  during  the  revolutionary  period  —  that  the  same 
would  be  just  as  apt  to  find  them  divided  very  equally 
ii'.to  opposing  parties.     The  French,  or  Huguenot  settlements, 
would   be  sure  to  wear  whig  colors;    so  also  the  Irish;    the 
Scotch  and  English  were  mostly  dogged  loyalists;   while  the 
German  population  were  nearly  equally  divided  in  sentiment 
bof  ween  the  colony  and  the  crown. 

Of  the  native  born,  a  vast  majority  were  patriots,  particular 
ly  the  younger  men;  and  these,  necessarily  brought  together 
from  all  the  settlements,  blended  the  otherwise  adverse  nation 
al  sentiments  of  the  original  stocks,  into  that  rare  sort  of  union, 
which  Anacreon  Moore  rather  fancifully  describes  as  the  "  one 
arch  of  peace."  To  this  mingling  of  their  young,  was  due,  in 
some  degree,  the  occasional  forbearance  of  the  parents  ;  many 
of  whom,  on  both  sides,  took  parole  or  protection,  and  forebore 
the  field  ;  as  much  because  of  the  committal  of  their  sons,  as  be 
cause  of  any  selfish  apprehensions  of  their  own. 

There  was  still  a  fair  proportion,  however,  who  felt,  or  ac 
knowledged,  none  of  these  restraints  ;  and  who,  whether  from 
a  natural  and  earnest  sentiment  of  loyalty,  or  because  of  their 
full  faith  in  the  powers  of  the  German  sovereign  on  the  throne 
of  Britain,  to  coerce  his  rebellious  subjects  into  obedience, 
joined  the  banner  of  the  king  as  soon  as  it  was  unfurled,  and 
proved  themselves  as  fierce  and  unsparing,  as  if  they  dealt  only 


'BEAM'S  CABIN  IN  THE  SWAMP.  11 

with  their  natural  enemies.  It  is  not  our  purpose  here  to  indi 
cate  the  various  causes  which  led  the  people  to  choose  opposi 
tion  on  either  side ;  hut,  we  may  add,  that,  as  in  all  such  cases, 
there  were  baser  motives  also  at  work ;  there  were  private 
feuds  to  avenge,  hot  rivalries  to  assuage,  and  plunder  to  he  won. 
It 'may  he  that  the  progress  of  our  history  will  unfold  all  of 
these  motives  in  turn. 

There  is  a  small  watercourse,  buried  in  swamp  and  thickly 
fringed  with  a  natural  arid  noble  forest-growth,  which,  rising  at 
nearly  equal  distances  between  the  Santee  and  the  Edisto,  finds 
its  way  at  last  into  the  latter  river.  This  stream  goes  still  by 
the  old  rustic  title  of  the  Four-Holes  swamp.  In  the  times  of 
which  we  write,  it  was  one  of  the  places  of  refuge  for  the  out 
lying  patriot.  The  settlements  along  its  upland  margin  were 
infrequent ;  and,  though  skirted  by  one  of  the  common  thor 
oughfares  of  the  county,  the  region  was  of  too  suspicious  a 
character  to  suffer  the  traveller  to  linger  as  he  rode.  There 
was  nothing  to  woo  the  lover  of  the  picturesque  in  the  prospect 
around  him,  and  curiosity  had  but  little  motive  to  pierce  the 
dark  and  silent  recesses  of  those  thickets  which  seemed  impene 
trable  from  without ;  and  the  mysterious  stillness  and  obscurity 
of  which,  were  well  calculated  to  arm  the  instincts  of  the  way 
farer  with  a  tremulous  sense  of  danger.  He  rarely  suffered 
himself  or  his  steed  to  pause  and  bait  as  he  sped  over  the  route, 
so  long  as  the  gloomy  shadows  of  this  great  thicket  were  cast 
upon  his  path. 

It  is  to  this  very  region,  however,  that  we  propose  to  conduct 
the  reader  now.  We  shall  penetrate  the  silent  and  shadowy 
fortress  of  swamp  and  forest,  following  a  footpath  which  you 
would  scarcely  discover  for  yourself;  the  traces  of  which,  from 
without,  are  quite  undiscernible  by  the  uninitiated.  We  enter 
a  creek,  breaking  boldly  through  a  fence  of  willows.  Our  steeds 
leave  no  track  in  the  water.  We  follow  the  stream  for  fifty 
yards,  and  knee-deep  in  the  swamp  we  are  surrounded  by  a 
wood  of  cypresses.  Before  us  another  fortress  of  forest  spreads 
away,  thick  and  matted.  We  press  boldly  up  against  it,  and  a 
faint  gleam  of  light  appears,  as  shining  through  a  crevice,  or 
our  left.  We  descend,  following  this  gleam.  It  opens  suffi 
ciently  to  admit  of  our  passage  through  a  copse  of  cane  and 


:2  THE   FORAYERS. 

willows  over  which  hang  great  branches  of  gum  and  tupola 
We  pass  a  hammock,  thickly  covered  with  woods.  And  still 
our  way  lies  through  water.  The  path  grows  sinuous  and  would 
be  lost,  but  for  certain  marks  upon  the  branches  of  the  trees 
under  which  we  are  required  to  move.  You  would  not  see 
these  marks.  No  one  could  see  them,  were  they  not  shown . 
or  decipher  their  mystic  uses,  were  they  not  explained.  They 
have  been  carefully  made,  not  only  to  escape  the  casual 
glance,  but  to  shape,  step  by  step,  the  course  of  him  who  has 
been  taught  the  cipher.  The  refuge  has  been  often  sought.  It 
has  hitherto  justified  the  hope  of  security  which  it  promised. 
The  spot  was  long  known  and  honored  after  the  Revolution,  as 
"  'Bram  Johnson's  Castle." 

But  we  have  not  reached  "  'Brain's  Castle"  yet.  There  is 
still  a  tract  of  wood  and  water  to  be  passed.  The  refuge  is  one 
designedly  difficult  of  access,  and  even  to  him  who  knows  the 
indices  by  which  to  find  it,  the  way  is  circuitous  and  the  paths 
difficult.  But  we  will  suppose  these  to  be  overcome.  The  re 
gion  has  been  laid  bare  since  the  war,  and  many  have  been  the 
curious  spectators  whom  the  familiar  scout  has  conducted  to  the 
curious  hiding-place  of  the  patriots.  Let  us  penetrate  at  once 
to  the  recess,  supposing  the  difficult  progress  to  be  overcome, 
and  emerging  suddenly  from  the  thicket  and  swamp,  upon  a 
hammock,  an  islet  of  the  swamp,  covered  with  mighty  trees, 
pine  and  beech,  a  sandy  cpot,  high,  dry,  and  sheltered,  as  if  a 
retreat  for  the  Genius  Loci,  whom  we  will  suppose  a  bearded 
Druid,  brooding  in  silence  Avhile  he  grows  to  stone,  and  the 
gray  moss  winds  about  him,  a  natural  shroud  for  the  High 
Priest  of  a  perished  people. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  one  o^  the  hottest  days  of  June  — 
one  of  the  hottest  months  in  Cc- ,-olina — in  the  year  of  gra% 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  ai  \i  eighty-one,  that  a  horseman 
made  his  way  along  the  route  described,  and  penetrated  to  th-3 
little  swamp  islet,  or  hammock,  upon  which  the  cabin  of  'Bram 
Johnson  stood.  The  stranger  was  very  certainly  a  military 
man,  though  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  his  costume  as  a 
military  rmif.  rm.  He  evidently  belonged  to  the  irregular  ser- 
7 ice  'Bis  clothes  Avere  of  a  dark  blue,  and  consisted  of  an 
overall,  or  hunting  -shirt,  of  linen  or  cotton  material.  His  small 


'BRAM'S  CABIN  IN  THE  SWAMP.  13 

clothes  were  of  the  same  material,  and  leggins,  of  blue  also, 
much  after  the  Indian  fashion,  completed  his  outilt.  The  cap 
which  he  wore  was  o:  common  fur,  without  feather.  He  carried 
a  broadsword  at  his  side,  and  pistols,  doubly  shotted,  filled  his 
holsters.  His  steed  was  a  glorious  black,  without  spot  upon  all 
his  body,  one  white  star  excepted,  which  was  conspicuou.  upon 
his  right  fore  shoulder.  The  rider  was  of  vigorous  buiid  ,  not 
so  heavy  as  compact  and  symmetrical ;  some  five  feet  eleven 
inches  high,  erect  of  carriage,  and  probably  twenty-seven  years 
of  age.  He  had  a  finely-formed  oval  face,  well  bronzed,  cheeks 
full,  chin  prominent,  and  eyes  gray  and  searching  .as  the  eagle's. 
The  forehead  was  broad,  the  head  high,  and  the  chestnut  curls 
escaped  beneath  his  cap,  and  hung  loose  and  long  upon  his 
shoulder.  Clearly,  there  was  need  for  shears  and  razor,  the 
beard  being  quite  as  long  and  massive  as  the  hair. 

Our  horseman  had  penetrated  all  the  avenues  leading  to  the 
hammock  of  'Bram  Johnson,  without  disturbing  any  echoes. 
He  stopped  his  steed  when  about  to  emerge  upon  the  banks, 
and  alighted  where  he  stood,  fastening  the  animal  to  a  swing 
ing  bough  that  hung  above  the  creek.  With  his  sabre  in  his 
hand  the  rider  quietly  ascended  the  hammock,  and  made  his 
way  forward,  with  the  stride  of  one  quite  sure*  of  his  ground, 
and  without  apprehending  interruption.  He  was  clearly  one 
of  those  in  possession  of  the  "open  sesame."  lie  passed  quietly 
but  confidently  among  the  great  beeches,  cypresses,  and  syca 
mores,  which  covered  the  islet,  until  his  eye  caught  glimpses  of 
a  vein  of  smoke  that  rose  from  the  cabin  of  'Brain  Johnson. 
Tli en  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and,  stealing  from  tree  to  tree, 
as  if  suddenly  counselled  with  the  necessity  of  caution,  he  con 
tinued  to  press  forward,  in  ti;is  stealthy  manner,  until  the  wig 
wam  of  the  negro  stood  full  ir*  sight  before  him. 

It  was  a  very  sultry  afterno.m,  as  we  have  said,  on  one  of 
die  hottest  days  in  our  hottest  month.  The  present  season  was, 
if  possible,  far  hotter  than  usual ;  and,  in  that  dense  empire  of 
shrub  and  forest,  where  the  winds  could  at  no  time  penetrate 
with  vigour  —  where  they  could  not  course  or  swoep,  but  only 
trickle,  as  it  were  —  the  atmosphere  weigh od  like  a  coppery 
fluid  upon  the  universal  nature.  The  stranger  had  seusil  'y 


14  THE   FORAYERS. 

felt  its  pressure,  and  his  movements  had  been  slow  accordingly 
The  perspiration  streamed  from  his  brows,  and  the  blood 
throbbed  violently  in  the  veins  upon  his  forehead.  But  the 
sight  that  met  his  eyes  seemed  to  make  him  forgetful  of  his  own 
exhaustion.  A  smile  curled  his  lips,  and  rested  upon  his  noble 
features,  like  a  soft  sunset  upon  a  happy  landscape.  It  was 
evident  that  his  was  a  lively  nature,  keenly  susceptible  of  the 
playful  and  the  humorous.  He  paused,  and  the  words  rose 
to  his  lips,  as  if  spoken  in  the  ears  of  a  companion. 

"  Now,  look  at  that  rascally  negro.  There  he  sits,  drowsing 
in  the  sunset,  mouth  wide,  and  every  sense  steeped  in  forget- 
fulness.  An  alligator  might  take  him  as  he  sleeps,  and  make 
his  first  mouthful  of  him  before  he  could  open  his  eyes.  Yet 
is  he  set  to  watch  and  wait.  He  has  gorged  himself  with  ter 
rapin  and  rice.  He  has  probably  had  a  fat  possum  for  dinner ; 
or,  possibly,  has  contrived  to  pick  up  some  luckless  pig,  stray 
ing  out  of  hearing  of  Holman's  stye.  He,  at  all  events,  will 
contrive  to  feed  and  fatten  though  his  master  starves." 

Thus  saying,  the  stranger  quietly  drawing  his  sabre,  smote 
a  hickory  shoot  from  a  neighboring  tree,  and  thus  armed  he 
approached  the  sleeping  negro.  'Bram  [Abram]  was  a  portly 
fellow,  loosely  clad,  a  white  homespun  shirt  and  duck  trowsers 
constituting  his. only  covering.  The  shirt  was  open  at  the  breast, 
displaying  a  broad  massive  trunk,  like  that  of  Hercules.  The 
sweat  rolled  down  from  his  face  and  neck,  or  stood  out  upon 
his  skin  in  big  bead-like  drops  that  glistened  like  oil.  His 
deep  breathing  was  like  that  of  a  young  cayman,  crying  for 
his  supper.  Never  was  being  more  happily  unconscious  of 
what  the  morrow  was  to  bring  forth.  A  smart  stroke  of  the 
hickory  over  his  shoulders  suddenly  enlightened  him.  A  second 
brought  him  to  his  feet,  and  fairly  opened  his  eyes.  Rubbing 
his  irritated  shoulder  with  one  hand,  while  he  threw  out  the 
other  in  defence,  he  cried  — 

"  Wha'  de  debbil  dat  <  who  dat,  I  say,  da  hit  maussa  nigger 
wid  hick'ry  V' 

The  stroke  was  repeated,  and  the  fellow  opened  his  eyes  this 
time  to  a  full  knowledge  of  the  pe  sou  in  whose  presence  he 
stood. 

"  Ki !  Mass  Willie,  da  you  ?" 


15 

"  And  this  is  the  way,  you  rascal,  that  you  watch  the  camp 
when  I  am  gone?" 

"  Psho,  maussa,  I  bin  see  you  all  de  time !  I  know  he  bin 
you  from  de  fuss  [first]." 

"  Then  you  must  have  a  famous  passion  for  hickory,  you  ras 
cal,  to  receive  three  cuts  of  it  before  letting  me  know  that  you 
were  awake." 

"  Psho  !  de  hick'ry  aint  hutt  fhurtj." 

"  Ah  !  will  you  try  a  little  more  of  it  ?"  But  the  black  re 
treated,  rubbing  his  shoulders  afresh. 

"  Tank  you,  Mass  Willie ;  but  'scuse  me,  ef  you  please ;  no 
more  dis  time.  Next  time,  maybe,  I  will  tank  you  for  anoder 
tas'e  ftastej." 

"  You  will  get  more  than  a  taste,  'Bram,  if  I  catch  you  anoth 
er  time,  sleeping  in  broad  daylight,  when  your  business  was 
to  keep  close  watch  until  Ballou  came  in.  Suppose  the  tories 
had  found  you  out  ?" 

"  Oh !  maussa,  he  bin  so  hot  dis  ebning,  and  I  jis  bin  loss 
myself  wid  sleep  when  you  bin  coming.  I  no  bin  quite  'sleep 
neider,  for  I  t'ink  I  bin  yerry  de  boss,  and  t'ink  I  bin  see  some 
body  cross  my  eye  jis  when  you  come  up  on  de  hammock.  I 
don't  t'ink  I  bin  loss  myse'f  'tall." 

"Shut  up,  and  don't  lie  to  me,  'Bram!  But  this  sort  of 
watching  will  never  do !  Suppose  it  had  been  one  of  Car- 
michael's  tories  instead  of  me  ?" 

"  How  tory  guine  fin'  he  way  yer,  Mass  Willie  ?" 

"  How  did  we  find  our  way  here  ?" 

"Oh,  we  berry  differen'  sort  of  people,  maussa.  We  hab 
sense,  maussa.  More  dan  dat,  enty  I  know  dem  tory  is  all  gone 
up  de  country  wid  de  red  coats." 

"  But  they  are  coming  back  as  fast  as  possible,  and  some  ot 
them  will  no  doubt  arrive  in  Orangeburg  to-night  or  to-morro  v  " 

"  Ki !  you  say  so,  maussa  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  rascal ;  and  if  this  is  the  way  that  you 
watch  when  you  are  sent  out,  we  shall  have  a  round  chance  of 
being  taken,  —  every  mother's  son  of  us,  by  Coffin's  cavalry,  or 
Fisher's  scouting  parties." 

"  Wha'  cle  use  for  you  talk  so,  Mass  Willie,  when  you  knows 
its  onpossible.  TImv  dem  poor  little  carrion  hoss  of  Coffin  guine 


16  THE   FORAYERS. 

run  we  down  ?  How  dem  dutty  [dirty]  nigger  of  Fisher  guine 
fin'  we  out  ?  Enty  I  know  lie  can't  come  it,  try  he  bes';  as  for 
dem  cabalry  of  Coffin,  he  gone  up  free  week  ago.  I  shum  [see 
uni]  when  he  pass  t'rough  Orangebu'g.  He  bin  down,  some  of 
dem,  to  young  missis  place,  and  bring  off  heap  of  corn  and  fod 
der.  I  speck  Pete  Blodgit  will  tell  you  all  'bout  it  when  you 
axes  inn;  dat  is,  if  he  aint  too  big  a  rascal ;  and  I'm  jubous 
'bout  he  rascality  —  dat  same  Pete." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it,  'Bram  ?" 

"  He  sell  de  cawn  and  fodder,  maussa,  to  de  redcoat.  He  git 
de  money  for  'em." 

<(  I  know  that  already.    But  did  you  learn  how  much  he  sold  ?'' 

"  I  bin  watch  close.  He  sell  heap.  De  redcoat  feed  dere 
t'ree  days ;  den  he  carry  off  free,  sebben,  five,  eleben  wagon 
loads  of  cawn  and  fodder  —  all  up  to  Orangebu'g." 

"  No,  nonsense,  'Bram.  I  know  you  don't  love  Pete  Blodgit, 
but  that's  no  reason  why  you  should  lie  about  him.  How  many 
wagon-loads  were  carried  off?" 

"  I  speck  he  hab  seben  or  eleben,  maussa,  da's  a  trute." 

"  Seven — or  eleven  !" 

"  Yes ;  de  cawn  bin  at  de  bottom,  de  fodder  on  top.  I  can't 
tell  how  much,  but  Pete  get  money  for  'em.  I  see  de  goul'in 
lift  hand,  more  dan  I  kin  count." 

"  That,  too,  I  know;  but  can  you  guess  how  much  ?" 

"  He  hab  he  Jian'  full — more  dan  full !  I  see  dat !  But  I 
can't  count  'em,  whay  I  bin  hide !" 

"  Where  did  you  hide  to  see  all  this  t" 

"  Bury  up  in  de  fodder  in  de  loff  [loft].  I  lay  down  wid  my 
mouth  'pon  hole  in  de  floor,  an'  I  bin  look  t'rough  de  floor  'pon 
Pete  Blodgit  and  the  o'd'ly  sargen'  where  him  an'  Pete  bin 
down  in  the  stable.  He  git  he  han'  full  of  goul'giiinies ;  dat  I 
know;  and  he  hab  han',  maussa — you  ebber  bin  obzarb  Pete 
Blodgit  han',  mauss?. !  — he  hab  hand  like  shubble  [shovel] !" 

"  I  believe  you  arc  right,  'Bram,  about  the  measure  of  his 
hands,  but — " 

"To  be  sure,  I  right !  He  heb  em  like  shubble,  for  true ; 
and  he  kin  shet  he  han'  on  wha'  he  git,  maussa,  I  tell  you.  Ha ! 
dat  Pete  Blodgit,  maussa  ; — keep  you  eye  'pon  'em  !  You  guino 
fin'  'em  out  yit,  some  day  He's  a  most  dutty  rascal'." 


17 

"  Hush,  'Bram  :  no  more  of  that.  I  will  keep  my  tye  upon 
both  of  you.  And  now,  what  of  Ballon  ?  Has  he  been  drink 
ing  again  ?" 

"  He  guine  ebber  lef '  off  drink,  maussa,  so  long  as  Jimma- 
kor  run  ?  Jim  Ballon  musj  drink  if  he  hab  Jimmaker.  He 
soak  all  day  las'  Sunday." 

"Was  he  sober  the  day  when  he  went  off?" 

"  1  speck  so ;  but  dere's  no  telling,  maussa.  He  so  usen  to 
drink,  dat,  drunk  or  sober,  he  hab  he  leg  always." 

"  You  were  down  at  Holly-Dale,  'Bram,  and  saw  Henry." 

"  Nebber  see  Mass  Henry ;  he  bin  gone  somewhar'.  See 
Miss  Bertha.  He  [she]  ax  'bout  you,  maussa  !  Ha  !  You  bin 
look  'pon  em  when  he  ax  'bout  you,  wid  he  eye  look  down, 
and  de  red  kibber  [cover]  all  he  face,  you  feel  warm  all  'bout 
de  heart.  He's  a  most  beautiful  gal  child,  is  Miss  Bert'a." 

"  Did  you  see  the  old  gentleman  ?" 

•'  Wha' !  de  cappin  1  Enty  he  cuss  me,  for  d — n  bull-head 
son  ob  a  buffalo  !  Look  yer,  Mass  Willie,  keep  you  eye  sharj: 
'pon  dat  same  ole  Cappin  Trabis.  He  hab  heep  o'  dealing  wid 
dem  tory  in  de  Fork.  He  eat  dinner  wid  dem  redcoat  in  de 
garrison  at  Orangebu'g.  He  git  British  guineas  and  high  price 
for  ebbry  t'ing  he  kin  sell  in  Orangebu'g.  You  t'ink  he  hab 
good  feeling  for  you,  Mass  Willie,  cause  you  fadder  and  him 
bin  togedder  in  de  ole  Cherokee  war  ! — you  t'ink  he  look  kin' 
?pon  you  when  you  gone  to  see  Miss  Bert'a  ?  nebber  blieb  em ! 
He's  no  better,  I  tell  you,  dan  a  d — n  tory." 

"  Silence,  sir.     No  more  of  this." 

"  I  can't  silence,  maussa !  Look  you,  enty  I  look  'pon  em, 
arm  in  arm,  walking  de  piazza  wid  dat  Dick  Inglehardt.  You 
know  Dick  Inglehardt.  Enty  he  tory  to  de  backbone  ?  Well, 
you  know  wha'  he  go  for  when  he  gone  to  Holly-Dale  ?" 

The  negro  watched  the  effect  of  his  information  upon  his 
master's  visage.  He  did  not  deceive  himself  in  the  conjecture 
that  what  he  said  would  make  the  other  look  grave.  With  a 
subdued  voice,  the  master  inquired  : — 

"  Was  Richard  Inglehardt  at  Holly-Dale  when  you  were 
there  the  other  day  ?" 

"  To  be  show  [sure]  he  bin  day  !  Big  as  a  gineral,  walking 
up  and  down  de  piazza,  as  who  but  he !" 


18  THE   rO 

'••  Did  he  se«  you,  'Bram  ?" 

"Catch  me  at  dat,  Ma«i  Willie!  Oh;  no,  whori  1  ehuin,  1 
back  into  de  hush.  I  knew  hery  well,  ef  he.  see  'Bram,  h*j  say 
to  hesef— 'Bram  maussa  no  fur  off.  Ht,  bin  day  heap  o'  times 
lately,  i  speck.  I  shum  riding  out  from  Orangebu'g  wid  de  ole 
cappin.  Bote  of  dem  hab  shot  in  de  eye." 

"What!  drunk?" 

"  Jis'  dat,  and  not'ing  else ;  but  'twas  arter  dinner,  Mauss*. 
close  on  to  sundown,  and  when  a  genpleman  has  a  sawt  o'  riglr1,- 
you  know,  to  onsettle  his  standing  wid  a  sawt  o'  sentiment." 

"  You  are  getting  equally  elegant  in  your  modes  of  thought 
and  speech,  Abram ;  and  if  you  would  only  drop  your  habit  of 
swearing,  there's  no  telling  the  degree  of  elegance  to  which  you 
might  arrive.  But  let  us  look  into  your  cabin.  I  want  my 
homespun." 

"  Wha' !  you  guine  a  'sguising  yourself  agin,  Mass  Willie.  I 
speck  you  guine  right  off  now  to  Hollydale.  You  mus'  look 
sharp  'bout  you  ef  you  guine  dere." 

"  No  matter  where  I  go,  'Bram ;  it  is  not  exactly  my  cue  to 
let  you  know  all  my  movements." 

"Ha  !  you  better  !  you  better  tek  [take]  me  wid  you.  You 
git  in  trouble  some  day,  when  'Bram  aint  close  by  to  help  you 
out  o'  de  ditch.  Dem  tory  will  sure  for  fin'  you  out,  some  day, 
t 'rough  all  dat  'sguising;  and  taint  yaller  homspun,  and  coon- 
skin  cap,  and  bushy  wig  and  whisker  wha'  guine  hide  you  from 
'em,  when  you  stan'  up  so  straight  in  your  mocksens,  and  show 
sich  leg  as  dat  t'rough  your  leggins." 

"  You  are  a  cunning  rascal,  'Bram,"  replied  the  other  with  a 
smile,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  negro's  shoulder  kindly  as  he 
spoke,  while  the  latter  applied  his  key  to  the  padlock.  The 
door  of  the  cabin  was  open,  and  the  two  went  in  together. 

When,  after  a  space,  the  master  reappeared  from  the  cabin, 
he  was  completely  disguised  in  the  rude,  simple  garments  01 
the  poorest  sort  of  countrymen.  He  had,  besides,  taken  the 
precaution  to  stain  his  face  and  hands,  with  a  thin  decoction  of 
some  native  roots  from  the  woods,  so  that  the  fair  white  and 
red  of  his  complexion  were  hidden  in  a  gipsy  sort  of  bronze, 
7/hich,  to  any  but  a  very  close  examination,  would  seem  natural 
enough. 


'BRAM'B  CABIN  LN  TTJR,  SWAMP.  1^ 

We  do  no'  2ajp  to  report  the  i\ir\cr  di*!ogr.G  between  tho 
parties.  It  nil1  roi  concern  our  .rarrative.  The  master  ex- 
tendocl  his  hand. 

"And  now,  'Bram,  I  must  leave  you.  I  must  ride  to  Pete 
Blodgit's  to-night.  Take  care  of  yourself,  and  do  not  leave 
the  cabin  on  any  account  till  Ballou  returns.  One  or  other 
of  you  must  be  here  always.  I  have  dropped  a  letter  in  the 
hollow  for  Colonel  Singleton.  Should  he  come  while  you  arc 
icre,  or  any  of  his  officers,  say  to  him,  or  them,  that  the  Great 
,>mfalo  means  to  lie  down  for  awhile,  and  rest  upon  the  hills." 
"  De  high  hills,  Mass  Willie." 

'  Ay,  ay,  the  high  hills  of  Santee  ;  and  say  further,  that  the 
l/aijiecpek  wants  them  to  hear  his  crow,  and  join  him  for  a 
u-reat  flight  below." 

I  comperhends,  maussa,     I  knows.     De  Gamecock—" 
I  only  wish   you  to  repeat  what  I  say,  'Bram  •    it  is  not 
necessary  that  you  should  comprehend  it.     If  you  have  one 
fault,  'Brain,  more  than  another,  which  I  could  wish  you  to 
correct,  it  is  that  of  being  a  little  too  wise  for  your  master." 

"  Oh  !  psho,  Mass  Willie.  Git  out !  Don't  be  a  poking  fun 
wid  a  sharp  finger  at  you  nigger.  But,  one  ting,  Mass  Willie. 
I  yer  say  day  hab  mak'  you  promoted.  You's  a  ginneral  now, 
or  somet'ing  or  udder  like  it." 

"  Only  a  major,  'Bram  ;  only  a  major  !" 
"But  dat's  de  nex'  ting,  or  mighty  close  on  to  a  ginneral, 
I'm  a  finking." 

"  Good-bye,  'Bram  !"— offering  his  hand. 

"God  bless  you,  Mass  Willie;  God  for  ebber  bless  you,  and 
sen'  you  safe,  wid  a -warm  spur,  trough  de  berry  camp  ob  de 
enemy." 

"  The  prayer  may  be  more  reasonable  than  you  dream  of, 
old  fellow.  Good-bye,  'Bram." 

He  shook  the  negro's  hand  affectionately  and  departed  as  ho 
came.  'Bram  followed  him  to  the  edge  of  the  hammock,  am] 
when  he  had  gone  from  sight  — buried  in  the  thick  woods  in 
-and  when  his  horse's  tread  could  be  heard  no  longer,  the 
faithful  slave  murmured,  with  half  a  sigh,  a  tear  glistening  in 
his  eye  as  he  turned  back  to  his  cabin  :— 

"  God  bress  he  heart !     God  brcss  he  heart !     I  lub  'em  like 


20  THE  FORAYERS. 

my  own  chile.  But  I  always  fear'd  when  I  shum  go  off  widou? 
'Bram.  I  knows  wha'  he  is,  for  running  he  hoss  'mong  dem 
tory.  He  aint  fear'd  of  dem  tory  no  more  dan  I  fear'd  of 
grasshopper.  Le'  [let]  any  of  dem  speak  to  him  wid  sassy 
tongue,  and  how  he  will  smash  he  teet'.  Ha !  I  'member  dat 
scrimmage  by  M'Code  ferry ;  den  de  one  down  by  Lenud's ; 
den  up  ag'in  in  Lynch's ;  I  yer  de  ole  Gamecock  say,  hese'f, 
dat  Willie  Sinclair  is  all  h-11  for  a  charge !  I  so  wish  I  bin 
wid  em." 

But  we  will  leave  the  slave  to  his  meditations,  while  we  fol 
low  the  footsteps  of  his  master,  whose  present  occupation,  we 
may  whisper  in  the  reader's  ear,  contemplates  equally  his  own 
and  the  affairs  of  the  partisan  cavalry  under  the  command  of 
Marion. 


WHEL*    AND   DAM.  21 


CHAPTER   II. 

WHELV    AND    DAM. 

OUR  peopU  are  hard  riders,  and  a  night  canter  through  the 
forest  is  no  held  to  be  a  very  perilous  or  unpleasant  necessity. 
It  was  with  no  concern  that  our  horseman  found  the  night  set 
tling  down  upon  him  as  soon  as  he  left  the  swamp.  Nor  did  it 
occasion  much  concern  that  the  darkness  was  coming  on  in 
cloud,  and  with  a  threat  of  storm.  He  looked  up  at  the  gloomy 
masses  gatliering  in  the  south,  without  disquiet ;  and  very 
slightly  increased  the  speed  of  his  charger  by  a  slight  shake  of 
the  bridle  in  his  grasp. 

We  need  not  describe  his  ride,  which  was  continued  for  some 
hours,  his  steed  being  alloAved  to  vary  his  paces  at  times,  and 
to  subside  finally,  from  a  canter,  into  a  good  travelling  trot. 

His  course  lay  across  the  country  in  the  direction  of  the  San- 
tee.  By  nine  o'clock  he  reached  a  ruined  homestead  —  a  tol 
erably  ancient  manor  seat  —  where,  by  daylight,  the  traveller 
might  readily  perceive  the  proofs  of  former  state  and  wealth. 
A  great  entrance,  or  carriage-way,  of  brick  columns,  still  re 
mained,  opening  upon  a  noble  avenue  of  oaks.  But  the  fences 
and  gates  were  gone.  Our  horseman  penetrated  the  avenue, 
which  conducted  to  the  site  of  what  had  been  a  noble  mansion. 
It  was  now  in  ruins.  The  flames  had  done  their  work  fully 
upon  the  edifice,  which  had  been  built  of  black  cypress,  upon  a 
foundation  of  brick,  raised  some  ten  feet  above  the  ground. 
The  foundation  and  the  chimneys  alone  remained.  The  ruin 
had  been  the  work  of  tory  hands,  one  of  the  thousand  proofs, 
which  the  country  everywhere  afforded,  of  the  terrible  civil  war 
which  had  now,  for  some  years,  prevailed  in  Carolina. 

Our  traveller  sighed  unconsciously  as  he  passed  the  ruins 
which  he  could  but  imperfectly  discern  in  the  dim  light  of  a 
few  melancholy  stars  which  shone  out  still  among  the  imper- 


22  T1IK    FOHAYEKS. 

feet  cloud-drifts.  His  memory  fully  recalled  the  bitter  pang 
which  followed  his  first  knowledge  of  the  fate  of  the  ancient 
homestead.  The  tall  chimneys  stood  up  against  the  sky,  in  the 
open  area,  like  so  many  gloomy  memorials  of  a  tragic  history  — 
silent,  but  full  of  speech  to  his  affections,  But  he  rode  on  with 
out  pausing ;  his  pace,  indeed,  a  little  accelerated,  as  if  he  aimed 
to  lose  the  sight  of  objects  which  only  brought  him  troubling 
thoughts.  He  passed  through  a  ravaged  garden  in  the  rear ; 
entered  a  wood  which  had  been  a  pretty  sylvan  haunt  of  his 
youth ;  in  the  recesses  of  which  he  suddenly  came  upon  a  log- 
house,  through  the  chinks  of  which  a  faint  light  now  reached 
his  eyes. 

As  he  beheld  it  through  the  trees,  he  drew  up  his  steed, 
alighted,  and  having  fastened  the  reins  to  the  first  shrub-tree,  he 
stole  cautiously  to  the  cottage  entrance,  and  peeped  silently 
through  one  of  its  several  crevices.  As  if  satisfied,  by  his  survey, 
that  he  might  proceed  more  boldly,  he  smote  the  door  thrice  with 
his  sabre  hilt.  His  voice  seconded  this  application,  and,  after  a 
brief  delay,  in  which  he  exhibited  more  impatience  than  at  any 
time  during  his  whole  ride,  the  door  was  opened  to  him.  He 
had  reached  the  place  of  shelter  not  a  moment  too  soon.  Big 
drops  of  rain  were  now  beginning  to  ooze  out  from  the  trailing 
clouds  above. 

The  salutation  of  the  cottager — who  came  to  the  door  in  a' 
partial  undress,  and  bearing  in  his  hand  an  inch  of  tallow  can 
dle,  "  dipt"  such  as  the  poorer  sort  of  people  commonly  used 
whenever  they  were  ambitious  beyond  the  light-wood  torch  — 
would  seem  to  show  that  the  new-comer  had  been  expected. 

"Well,  major,  I  had  a'most  given  you  up.  It's  pretty  late,  I 
reckon.  I'd  a  sort  o'  guess  that  you'd  'a  been  here  last  night ; 
and  I  sot  up  for  you  till  the  biggest  part  of  the  night  was  gone. 
And  when  you  didn't  come,  all  day,  I  was  jubous  something 
had  happened.  All's  well,  I  reckon  ?" 

"  Quite,  Blodgit ;  quite  as  well  as  it  can  be  at  present.  Still, 
we  may  hope  that  it  may  be  better.  But  of  this  hereafter. 
Now,  my  good  fellow,  let  us  find  a  cover  for  my  horse.  How's 
the  corn  and  fodder  ?" 

"  Oh  !  enough,  sir,  and  to  spare  a  friend." 

"  And  an  enemy,  too,  upon  occasion,  Blodgit." 


WHELP   AND   DAM.  23 

"  How,  sir,  —  an  inimy  !" 
"  Love  your  enemies,  you  know  !" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir ;  that's  true ;  that's  in  the  good  book,  but 
'taint  quite  the  law  'mong  sodgers,  I'm  thinking.  Sodgers, 
Major—" 

"  No  matter  now,  about  the  soldiers,  Blodgit ;  let  us  see  to 
the  horse."  And  the  stranger  moved  from  the  cabin  to  where 
the  beast  was  fastened. 

"  Never  you  mind  him,  major.     Til  see  to  him." 

"  Thank  you,  Blodgit,  but  I  prefer  to  see  to  him  myself.  My 
good  '  Nimrod'  might  reasonably  be  displeased  with  me  if  I 
left  him  to  the  care  of  anybody  but  myself.  Besides,  it's  a 
habit  with  me  now,  and  I  should  not  eat  my  own  supper,  or 
enjoy  my  own  sleep,  with  any  satisfaction,  if  I  did  not  first  see 
that  he  was  put  properly  in  the  way  for  getting  his.  Do  you 
lead  the  way  to  the  stables,  and  shake  down  some  fodder.  No 
more  words  about  it." 

The  words  of  the  speaker,  uttered  with  the  air  of  one  accus 
tomed  to  command,  were  decisive,  and  the  two  proceeded  to 
gether  to  the  stables,  which  were  pretty  well  shrouded  in  the 
wood,  some  hundred  yards  in  the  rear  of  the  cabin.  Here,  the 
traveller  stripped  the  animal  of  his  furniture,  and,  in  spite  of 
Blodgit's  urgent  oifers  of  service,  rubbed  him  down  himself. 

"  It's  no  wonder,  major,  that  the  beast  loves  you,  and  you're 
sich  a  horseman  as  you  are.  It  stands  to  reason  that  he  should 
love  you,  when  you  take  sich  care  of  him." 

"  Tumble  in  the  fodder,  Blodgit." 

The  latter  obeyed.     This  done,  the  horseman  added  :  — 

"  We  will  let  him  munch  on  that  for  a  while.  In  half  an 
hour,  he  must  have  thirty  ears  of  corn.  And  now,  a  word  in 
your  ear,  Blodgit.  Having  seen  to  the  horse,  look  a  little  to 
his  master,  who,  I  can  answer  for  it,  has  not  had  a  bite  since 
sunrise." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  major  !  Come  along,  sir,  and  we  kin 
find  you  some  cold  bread  and  bacon.  Ef  you'd  wait  for  it, 
we  might  even  run  down  a  chicken." 

"  Let  the  chicken  run,  Blodgit.  The  bread  and  bacon  will 
answer  every  purpose." " 

They  emerged  from  the  stables  together,  and  pushed  hurriedly 


24  THE   FORAYERS. 

for  the  cabin.  The  rain  was  now  falling  steadily.  They  had 
scarcely  entered  the  hut  and  closed  the  door,  when  it  came 
down  in  torrents ;  while  the  winds,  suddenly  rising,  roared  over 
the  low,  shingled  roof,  with  the  hoarse  rush  of  the  sea  upon  the 
shore.  The  traveller  looked  up  with  satisfaction,  rubbing  his 
hands  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  fortunate  in  having  saved  my  distance.  How  it 
pours !" 

A  woman's  voice  from  an  inner  room  answered  his  self-con 
gratulation. 

"  Don't  mind  the  pouring,  major,  when  you're  in  the  dry." 

"Ah  !  old  lady,  are  you  still  awake  ?"  responded  the  traveller. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  major ;  old  people  don't  sleep  much ;  pretick- 
larly  when  they're1  troubled  with  the  rheumatiz." 

"  What !  still  sick — the  old  complaint1?" 

"  Well,  I'm  always  a-coinplaining.  Pains  in  all  my  bones, 
preticklarly  in  wet  weather.  I  kin  hardly  git  about  at  all ;  and 
that's  why  I  made  Pete  bring  me  down  from  the  loft,  for  I 
couldn't  be  going  up  and  down  them  troublesome  steps,  you 
know." 

"To  be  sure — you  were  right,  old  lady.  In  your  infirm 
condition  that  room  is  the  proper  place  for  you." 

"  So  I  told  Pete.  I'm  all  over  infirmities.  I  kin  do  nothing 
hardly  for  myself  now,  and  but  one  little  negro  gal  to  help  me, 
and  she  so  contrary.  There's  no  keeping  her  avake,  do  and 
say  what  I  will.  You  Jenny — Jenny  !" 

And  the  old  woman  began  to  bawl  for  the  negro,  whose  snores 
were  audible  from  the  same  chamber. 

"Don't  bother  yourself  about  the  gal,"  cried  Blodgit. 
"  What  do  you  want,  mammy  1  Let  me  do  it." 

The  son,  who  had  been  busy  spreading  the  supper-table,  now 
proceeded  to  the  apartment  of  the  old  woman. 

"  The  physic  bottle,  Pete.     It's  in  the  cupboard." 

"  What !  you  will  take  physic,  old  lady  V  asked  the  travel 
ler,  still  speaking  from  the  hall. 

"  What  kin  I  do,  major  ?  I  must  take  something  for  these 
pains,  and  this  is  a  most  famous  physic.  It  cured  old  Betsy 
Dollard  in  three  weeks,  and  she  was  much  worse  off  than  ma 
She  had  the  rheumatiz,  I  don't  know  how  many  years." 


WHELP   AND   DAM.  25 

"  Well,  I  hope  the  stuff  may  cure  you,  old  lady  But  I  have 
no  faith  in  physic.  It  is  quite  enough  to  expect,  if  the  patient 
does  not  die  of  it." 

"  Ah  !  major,  you  talk  like  a  young  man,  as  ef  you  was  to  be 
young  always.  But  wait  till  you  git  old  like  me,  and  then  you'll 
think  there's  nothing  in  the  world  like  doctor's  stuff." 

"Heaven  forefend!"  exclaimed  the  traveller.  "Commend 
me  to  bacon  and  hominy,  egg  and  chicken,  bread  and  milk  — 
any  farmhouse  physic  in  preference  to  that  of  the  doctor's  shop." 

The*  speaker,  by  this  time,  was  slashing  away  at  the  fragment 
of  a  flitch,  which  stood  before  him. 

"Some  of  this  bacon  now,Mrs.Blodgit,"  he  cried  aloud. 

"  Ah  !  ef  I  dared  !  But  'twould  be  the  death  of  me,  at  night 
preticklarly." 

"  The  life  of  you,  rather,"  was  the  answer ;  the  speaker  sha 
ving  off  a  second  slice  of  the  meat,  and  doing  prompt  execution 
upon  the  corn  hoecake  at  the  same  time. 

"  Bread  and  bacon,"  he  continued,  "  work  like  magic  upon 
sick  people.  They  have  cured  more  desperate  cases  in  one 
year,  than  physic  has  cured  in  a  century.  Bacon  is  a  great 
medicine  by  itself.  I've  known  of  a  hundred  cures  which  it 
has  made,  taken  internally ;  nay,  the  very  smell  of  the  meat, 
when  it  is  warm,  has  a  wonderful  effect.  There  was  one  poor 
fellow,  I  remember,  who  was  left  for  dead  on  the  field  at  Black- 
stocks.  We  never  dreamed  of  his  having  breath  enough  in  him 
to  keep  a  snail  alive,  and  looked  to  bury  him  with  the  rest,  as 
aooi  F.S  vve  had  finished  dinner.  But  the  moment  the  men  be- 
§an  to  nnt,  and  the  savor  of  the  bacon  reached  his  nostrils,  he 
revived,  begged  for  a  morsel  only,  and  has  been  a  well  man  ever 
since.  1  don't  know,  indeed,  but  that  he  owes  his  escape  from 
all  bullets  from  that  day,  to  the  fact  that  he  always  feeds  folly 
before  he  goes  into  battle.  He  keeps  a  thick  streak  of  bacon  be 
tween  ribs  and  skin,  and  it  turns  off  the  bullets." 

"Lord  presarve  me!     Is  it  possible,  major1?" 

"  Possible  !  It  is  true,  Mrs.  Blodgit ;  and  known  to  every 
trooper  in  Sumter's  cavalry.  The  old  Gamecock  would  have 
a  fellow  up  at  the  halberds,  in  short  order,  who  ventured  to  dis 
pute  it.  Try  a  morsel,  old  lady,  and  yo:rll  feel  your  pains  the 
easier  for  it." 


26  THE   FORAYERS. 

"Ef  I  thought  so,  major.  But  the  doctoi  says  —  Doctor 
Blumenburg,  you  know  —  that,  with  my  complaint,  I  should 
eat  a'most  nothing." 

"  And  I  say,  that,  with  your  complaint,  it  would  be  better 
were  you  to  swallow  Blumenburg  himself,  than  his  drugs." 

"  Oh  !  major,  how  kin  you  talk  so  ?" 

"  Does  he  tell  you  what  your  complaint  is  ?" 

"  No  !  that's  true  ;  he  don't !" 

"Well,  I  will  !     Your  complaint  is — physic!" 

"  Jest  as  I  said,  mother,"  put  in  Pete.  "  It's  what  I'm  al 
ways  a-telling  her.  I  tells  her  that  it's  doctor's  stuff  and  old 
age,  together." 

"  Old  age,  Pete  Blodgit !  I  wonder  what  you  knows  about 
it !  Old  age,  indeed  !  I'm  a  young  woman,  major  !  I'd  be 
young  and  spry  as  anybody,  if  'twan't  for  the  rheumatiz.  Old 
age  !  Oh  !  Pete  Blodgit,  you're  a  most  onnatural  son  for  one 
born  in  a  Christian  country.  Would  you  b'lieve  it,  major,  but 
I  warn't  but  a  child  —  a  ga'l  of  sixteen  —  when  that  ow-natural 
cub  was  born  ;  and  fo-  him  to  turn  upon  his  mother,  just  like  a 
heathen  Philistine." 

"  Psho,  mother,  don't  be  foolish  now  !" 

"  Foolish  !  You  oughtn't  to  say  a  word  to  me,  Pete  Blodgit, 
considering  you  didn't  want  to  let  me  move  my  bed  down 
sta'rs,  though  you  know'd  well  enough  how  I  was  suffering 
up  thar'  in  the  loft!" 

The  son  answered  surlily  : — 

"  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  come  down.     The  rooin't  & 
good  room  up  in  the  loft,  and  down  here,  you  are  only  in  tl 
way." 

"  Only  in  the  way  !  Oh  !  you  sarpent !  A  good  room,  you 
say ;  and  all  littered  up  with  kags  and  boxes." 

"Littered!  Yes,  and  who  litters  them?  Tell  me  that? 
Tell  the  major  now,  ef  you  hain't  got  a  hen  a-setting  now  in 
every  one  of  them  kags  and  boxes." 

"  Jest  hear  him,  the  sarpent !  Hens  must  set,  major  !  It's 
the  natur'  of  hens  to  set !  But  jest  you  ax  him,  major,  ef  he 
hadn't  the  onnateral  heart  to  say  I  shouldn't  come  down 
to  Ve  in  the  way  of  Hs  company." 


WHKLP   AND  DAM.  27 

u Company?"  wa«  the  single  word,  uttered  inquiringly  by 
the  guest,  and  lie  looked  at  Blodgit  as  if  for  explanation. 

"  You  knows  1  has  no  company,  mother,"  said  the  son,  witl 
a  slight  chow  of  confusion,  and  some  little  impatience  in  his  tone. 
"  Yes,  jju  has,  Pete ;  and  too  much  for  your  own  good 
What's  them  men,  that  kept  you  a-drinking  here,  Friday  night, 
for  a'most  three  good  hours ;  and  then  you  went  off  with  them, 
the  Lord  knowc  whar',  for,  I  reckon,  good  two- hours  more. 
You  were  after  no  good,  I  reckon." 

"  Leaving  you  alone  all  that  time,  old  lady  ?" 

"  Jest  so,  major ;  and  me  so  mighty  bad  off  with  the  rheuma 
tic" 

"  Ah  !  that  rheumatiz !  Try  the  bacon,  Mrs.  Blodgit.  It 
was  the  bacon,  and  not  the  physic,  that  cured  Mother  Dollard. 
And  so,  Pete  neglects  you  for  his  drinking  associates  ;  goes  off 
with  all  sort  of  scapegraces,  I  suppose,  and  leaves  you  to  suffer 
from  your  pains." 

"That  he  does,  major—" 

"  I  hev'  no  company —  I  don't  go  off  with  nobody,  major — " 

"  What,  man  !  won't  let  your  mother  speak  ?" 

"  That's  the  how,  major !  He  shets  me  up  jest  as  fast  as  I 
open  my  mouth  " 

"  A  sure  sign  of  a  bad  son,  Mrs.  Blodgit ;  but,  perhaps,  he 
had  business  with  these  people.  You  know,  I  sometimes  send 
my  men  to  him." 

'  Oh  !  'twarn't  none  of  your  men,  major — 'twas — " 

Pete  Blodgit  fidgetted. 

"  Mother,  you'd  better  let  me  talk  about  the  business,  to  the 
major,  by  ourselves." 

The  guest  perceived  the  anxiety  of  the  speaker ;  nor  did  tho 
changed  tone  of  voice,  with  which  he  spoke,  escape  the  observa 
tion  of  the  former.  It  had  its  effect  upon  the  mother  also.  The 
old  woman  immediately  resumed  her  complaints  of  the  rhouma- 
tiz  ;  and  rambled  off  into  a  comparison  of  her  pains  with  those 
of  Betsy  Dollard.  The  guest  was  placid,  and  did  not  seek  to 
press  the  point  upon  which  he  was,  nevertheless,  somewhat 
curious.  He  contented  himself  with  playing  upon  the  old  wo 
man,  in  another  way. 

"Your  case  is  certainly  a  hard  one,  Mrs,  Blodgit.     What 


28  THE   FORAYED. 

with  the  rheumatism,  the  girl,  and  yom  unnatural  son,  your  life 
must  be  very  wretched.  Now  I  can  euro  you  of  all  three  of 
these  evils.  Fling  your  physic  out  of  the  window,  and  try  the 
bacon  ;  give  the  girl  to  any  young  woman  who  has  not  got  the 
rheumatism ;  and,  as  for  Pete,  I  will  take  the  cure  of  him  upon 
myself.  He  shall  go  with  me  to  camp  to-morrow,  and  see  if  out 
orderly  can't  put  him  into  the  harness  of  good  behavior." 

"  What !  send  Pete  to  camp,  major,  and  he  a  Iani3  person  too, 
that  can't  walk,  as  I  may  say." 

"  You  forget ;  he  walks  off  with  those  peep-o'-day  boys — " 
"  Oh  !  that's  only  once  in  a  way,  major." 
"  His  lameness  doesn't  hurt  him  as  an  overseer.     It's  a  crook 
only,  not  a  weakness.      A  horse  may  be  hipshet,  you  know, 
yet  good  at  draught." 

"  But  Pete  ain't  a  horse,  major." 

"  No,  indeed ;  ef  I  was,  mother,  you'd  ha'  driven  me  to  my 
last  legs  long  ago  !" 

"  Thar'  ag'in,  you  onnateral  sarpent !—  "  began  the  old  wo 
man,  when  the  major  interrupted  her — 

"  You  see,  you  can  do  nothing  with  a  fellow  so  unkind  and 
ungrateful.  The  camp's  the  only  place  to  bring  him  to  his 
senses." 

"  Oh  !  major,  how  you  talk.  Pete's  a  good  son  —  thai-'  never 
was  a  better.  He  ongrateful  and  onkind  ?  —  tain't  in  him, 
major,  to  be  onkind!" 

"  Yet  he  would  have  kept  you  up  in  that  villanous  loft,  wrth 
the  hens  setting  everywhere  about  you.'? 

"  Oh  !  Lord,  major,  for  that  matter  I  likes  their  company ; 
and,  as  for  the  loft,  it's  not  so  bad  a  sleeping-place  after  all ; 
and  I'm  old,  and  better  out  of  the  way  up  thar.  Pete  meant 
well,  and  I  reckon,  major,  he  was  right  all  the  time.  Old  peo 
ple  are  apt  to  be  onreasonable." 

•'But  tho  bad  company  he  keeps,  old  lady  —  the  roy storing 
night-stalkers,  outlaws,  and  tories,  for  aught  we  know,  who  — " 
"No  !  no  !  no  tories,  I'm  sure !  oh!  major,  Pete's  one  of  the 
best  friends  of  liberty  in  all  these  parts.  Ef  the  men  that  comes 
to  see  him  —  only  now  and  then  — once  a  month,  perhaps,  not 
opener  —  ef  they  wouldn't  be  a  drinking  \3.ve,  for  two  hoars  at 
r,  sitrstch  !-*- 


WHELP   AND   DAM.  29 

"  Shocking' !  and  yet,  would  you  believe  it,  your  son,  Pete, 
has  not  offered  me  a  drop  of  Jamaica  to  take  the  salt  of  the 
bacon  out  of  my  throat." 

"  Why,  Pete!"  began  the  old  woman,  but  the  son,  who  had 
frequently  shown  himself  restiff,  and  not  unfrequently  began 
the  replies  for  his  mother,  now  spoke  quickly,  and  in  tones 
somewhat  louder  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  require  — 

"  Mother,  why  will  you  be  talking  foolishness.  You  know 
very  well  that  I  keeps  no  liquor  in  the  house  —  nara  [neither] 
whiskey  nor  Jamaica ;  and  when  the  men  comes  that  you  speak 
of,  they  brings  their  own  liquor  with  'em.  You'll  make  the 
major  b'lieve  everything  that's  bad  of  me,  and  then  he'll  be 
turning  me  out  of  the  house,  and  letting  loose  the  tories  upon 
me!" 

The  old  woman  whined  from  within,  in  assurances  of  her 
son's  sobriety  and  virtue ;  and,  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  the 
guest  exclaimed — 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  old  lady ;  your  son,  I  suppose,  is  not 
unworthy  of  his  excellent  mother !  And  now,  Master  Pete 
Blodgit,"  he  continued,  speaking  in  lower  tones,  "  lead  the  way 
to  the  hayloft.  I'll  take  my  sleep  to-night  in  a  bed  of  fodder." 

"  But  it  rains  yit,  major." 

"  Yes,  I  hear !  But  I  am  neither  salt  nor  sugar,  my  good 
fellow  ;  so  lead  the  way  !" 

"  Set  down  awhile,  major,  while  I  go,  and  brush  up,  and 
spread  out  the  clean  fodder — " 

"  Pshaw,  man,  do  as  I  bid  you,"  answered  the  stranger,  lay 
ing  his  hands  on  the  other's  shoulder  and  looking  him  search- 
ingly  in  the  face.  "I  am  a  soldier,  and  accustomed  to  rough 
usage.  Do  not,  by  your  prating,  lead  me  to  think  that  your 
usage  has  been  too  tender." 

There  was  that  in  the  glance  of  the  stranger,  beneath  which 
the  eyes  of  Pete  Blodgit  fell ;  there  was  something;,  too,  in  what 
the  other  said,  \vMch  filled  him  with  some  misgivings.  His 
dark  swarthy  features,  under  a  stronger  light  than  that  of  a 
"  dipt"  candle,  would  have  shown  themselves  suffused  with  a 
deeper  red  than  usual ;  and  there  was  a  tremor  of  his  slight 
form,  as  the  other  laid  hands  upon  his  shoulder,  which  betrayed 
some  lurking  apprehensions.  His  'msciousness  was  such  that, 


30  THE   FORAYERS. 

f./i  a  moment,  lie  did  not  venture  to  reply.  He  was  about  to 
light  a  Lit  of  candle,  ingeniously  socketed  in  a  huge  calabash, 
pierced  with  little  holes,  the  substitute  for  a  lantern,  and  not  a 
bad  one  either  —  when  his  companion  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Take  no  light,  Blodgit.     Carry  your  flint  and  steel  an.l 
the  candle  in  your  pocket !     Good-night,  old  lady." 
"  What,  major,  air  you  guine  out  into  the  weather  ?" 
"  Only  to  see  if  the  rain  has  washed  out  all  the  stars." 
"  Oh  !   major,  you  will  be  for  poking  fun  at  the  old  woman. 
It's  the  way  with  you  young  ossifcrs." 

Our  traveller  had  some  good-natured  answer  to  this,  while 
Pete  Blodgit  was  undoing  the  entrance  of  the  cabin  ;  but,  while 
speaking,  the  back  of  the  other  being  turned,  he  contrived  to 
lay  gently  upon  the  floor  at  his  feet,  and  just  where  he  had 
been  sitting,  a  memorandum  pocket-book.  His  movement  es 
caped  the  notice  of  the  cottager,  and,  in  a  moment  after,  the 
two  disappeared  in  the  night  together,  taking  their  way  once 
more  in  the  direction  of  the  stables. 


ROOU2   ,N   GRAIN  51 


CHAPTER    III. 

ROGUE    IN    GRAIN. 

THE  ha;?,  01  rather  fodder-loft,  which  the./  Bought,  was  above 
the  stable.  Entering  this,  the  candle  was  lighted,  and  our  trav 
eller  gave  a  look  at  his  good  steed.  He  was  pleased  to  see  that 
the  beast  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  showed  animation.  Blodgit 
now  supplied  the  trough  with  corn;  and,  this  done,  the  two 
clambered  up  by  a  rude  ladder  into  the  loft  above. 

Tliis  great  vaulted  chamber  was  pretty  well  filled  with  fodder 
closely  packed,  clean,  dry,  well  cured,  and  sweetly  smelling.  It 
offered  a  pleasant  sleeping-place  to  the  jaded  traveller  on  a 
stormy  night.  It  was  ample  enough ;  a  house  upon  a  house  ; 
high-roofed,  with  the  square  walls  of  the  house  running  up 
above  the  floor  some  six  feet,  and  forming,  with  the  roofing, 
an  apartment  of  considerable  depth.  The  length  and  breadth 
fully  corresponded  with  the  height.  The  stables  were  calcu 
lated  for  the  accommodation  of  fully  thirty  horses.  At  this  mo 
ment,  they  contained  that  of  our  traveller  only,  and  a  stout  hack 
ney  of  Master  Pete  Blodgit.  There  was  a  single  window  at 
each  end  of  the  loft,  through  the  crevices  of  which  the  light 
found  its  way  usually  with  the  dawn. 

Our  traveller  had  the  precaution  to  conceal  the  candle  by 

cooping  out  a  space  in  the  fodder  piles,  shrouding  'he  gleams 

•?  the  light,  even  so  feeble  as  they  were,  from  all  possibility  of 

boing  seen  through  the  chinks  of  the  building,  by  any  chance 

passer  on  the  outside.     The  two,  now  sitting   lown  beside  the 

candle,  contributed  still  more  effectually  to  the  obscuration  of 

it,  which  they  seemed  to  desire.     In  ".his  position  the  traveller 

'>egan  a  conversation  for  which  Pete  Blodgit  evidently  waited 

ith  .some  lisquiet. 

"•  I  take  for:  graaied  ±    >Jgit,  that  •<•  wise  enough,  and 


52  THE    FOHAYERS. 

honest  enough,  to  be  sensible  of  the  kindness  and  liberality 
with  which  you  have  been  treated  by  my  sister  and  myself,  and 
to  be  faithful  to  her  interests  and  mine.  In  this,  as  I  have  al 
ready  tried  repeatedly  to  show  you,  lay  your  own  interest  — 
nay,  safety  !  I  have  secured  you  the  forbearance  of  our  own 
people,  and  suffer  you  to  keep  up  appearances  with  the  British 
1  intrust  to  you  the  property  of  my  sister,  and  give  vou  a  liberal 
support  out  of  it.  Your  policy  is  to  be  faithful,  o^en  if  you 
lacked  the  honesty — " 

"  But  I  am  honest,  major  !  Who  says  I  ain't  honest  to  you  ? 
I'd  like  to  know  !  There's  no  man  what  has  a  right  to — " 

"  I  wish  to  believe  'you  honest,  Pete ;  yet  how  is  it  that  you 
suffer  drunken  and  drinking  visitors,  and  night-rufflers,  to  come 
about  you  1  And  who  are  these  visitors  'I  I  hope  you  are  not 
falling  into  bad  company." 

"  Lord,  no  !  major  ;  that's  jest  the  old  woman's  talk ;  «A  she 
wouldn't  be  an  old  woman,  you  know,  ef  she  didn't  talk,  and 
talk,  about  them  things  that  she  don't  onderstand.  The  people 
that  come  here,  once  or  twice  —  and  they  was  a-drinking  set  of 
fellows,  I  own —  they  were  Marion's  men — " 

"  What  were  Marion's  men  doing  away  from  camp  at  this 

time]" 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  had  let  some  of  them  come  off,  to  seo 
arter  their  famblies  and  their  crops.  They  were  some  of  the 
Baxters  and  Corries ;  young  Tom  Eigleberger,  and  Joe  Pur 
vis,  and  Dick  Stairns,  and  some  others,  whose  famblies  live 
along  the  Edisto — " 

"  Enough  of  them,  for  the  present !  I  am  not  satisfied  that 
they  have  left  camp  with  the  general's  permission,  and  the  less 
/on  have  to  say  to  them,  the  better." 

"  Lord  love  you,  major,  it's  only  once  in  a  way  I  seed  them , 
X  reckon,  before  this  time,  they're  off  to  camp  ag'in." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you,  as  for  themselves !  and  now  foi 
our  accounts.     How  much  powder  and  ball  have  you  been  ab^ 
to  pick  up  ]" 

"Mighty  leetle,  majov.  The  redcoats  are  getting  shy  of 
parting  with  ammynition.  I  don't  think  I've  been  aoie  to  gii 
more  than  thirty  weight  of  bullets,  and  a  leeJe  more  than  half 
that  quantity  of  powder." 


ROGUE  IN  GRAIN.  83 

"  Any  muskets  ?" 

"  Only  three." 

"  How's  this  ?  K  jt  one  of  my  deputies  but  has  been  doing 
far  better,  in  the  time  you've  had.  Ballou,  alone,  has  been 
able  to  pick  up  more  than  forty  weight  of  powder,  thirteen 
muskets,  and  ninety-eight  pounds  of  ball;  besides  sending 
thirteen  Irish  deserters  into  camp." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say ;  but  Ballou  must  be  more  in  luck's  way 
than  inc.  I  hain't  had  any  chaince ;  besides,  major,  I've  had 
so  leotle  money." 

"  How  so  ?  You've  been  selling  corn  and  foddei,  1  know  ! 
I  see  even  here,  your  pile  has  come  down  considerably  !  and 
how's  the  corn  in  the  swamp  fens'?" 

"  Well,  I  hain't  sold  much,  major.     Mighty  leetle,  in  fact — " 

"  Be  sure,  Pete  Blodgit,  of  the  truth  of  what  you  are  about  to 
tell  me.  I  would  not  have  you  commit  yourself.  I  would  not 
wish  to  discharge  you  :  but  I  will  not  be  deceived ;  and  I  have 
the  means  of  knowing.  Speak  out  boldly,  man,  and  in  order  to 
do  so,  be  sure  you  speak  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  Oh  !  to  be  sure,  major ;  it's  nothing  but  the  truth  that  I'm 
guine  to  tell  you !  Now,  you  see,  powder  and  shot  is  mighty 
scarce  in  these  pairts.  It's  hardly  to  be  had  for  love  or  money ; 
and  the  money's  scarce ;  for,  though  I  hev'  been  selling  a  leetle 
provisions,  yet,  you  see,  the  money  you  gits  for  it  ain't  always 
the  right  grit." 

"  You  don't  tell  nio,  Pete  Blodgit,  that  you've  been  taking 
continental  money  from  the  British,  for  my  sister's  corn  and 
fodder." 

"  Well,  you  see,  major,  there  warr>'c  any  help  for  it  Times 
ain't  as  they  usen  to  be.  Thar's  no  sich  pbnty  of  guineas  now 
to  be  had,  and  sence  the  British  hev'  been  a  printing  and  coun- 
terfitting  this  continental  paper,  they're  more  likely  to  poke 
that  into  your  fkt  than  the  yaller  beautiea.' 

The  officer  gazed  sternly  into  the  countenance  of  the  other, 
whose  eyes  drooped  slowly  beneath  his  glance,  as  be  Bternly  in 
terrupted  him — 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  outwind  me,  Pete  Blodgir,  with  this 
chatter  about  and  about  the  truth.  To  the  point,  man.  What 
!t>rn  a>id  fodder  have  you  sold,  and  what  money  have  you  goJ  ?'' 

2* 


34  THE    FOUAYERS. 

"Well,  major,  don't  Lc  too  rash  now — jest  let  me  count  up 
and  remember.     Thar'  was  a  matter  of  five  loads  of  fodder  that 
was  tuk'  away  by  that  blasted  squad  of  tories  under  Eichebourg ; 
und  they  wouldn't  pay  in  nothing  but  the  blasted  paper." 
.  "  Why  did  you  take  it  ?" 

"  How  could  I  help  myself,  major  ?     They  would  ha'  tuk'  it 
anyhow." 

"  What !   and  you  with  Lord  Rawdon's  own  protection  in 
your  pocket  ?" 

"  'Twan't   no  use,  major,  with  sicb.   rapscallions   as  them. 
They  jest  laughed  at  the  paper." 
"  Well --proceed !" 

"Then  thar   was  Cappin'  Creighton — " 
"  llegula;  service  1" 

«Yis —  rigilars  —  but  they  paid   some   in  continentals,  and 
some,  in  gould." 

"  How  much  gold  ?" 

44 1  reckon,  I  had  five  guineas  from  him." 
"  Five  guineas  !  well  V 

"  Then  come  Norris's  dragoons,  and  they  ygin'  me  a  leetle 
gold." 

"  How  much  gold  P 
"Well,  about  five  guineas  more." 

"That  is  ten,  then,  that  you  admit.  How  about  Keene's 
squadron  ?" 

"Oh!  Keene  — yes,  I  did   of,ll  some  provisions  to   Cappiii 
Keene,  and  he  paid  nib  a  lestle  gold  loo  ;  say  three  guineas  '' 
"  Thirteen  !  what  more  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  recollect,  jest  now,  any  more,  major,  'cept — 
"  Except  what  1" 

"Except  what  our  own  people  got,  Thar'  was  Cappin' 
Uvnn/ii  got  some  with  your  order;  and  Ville-Pontoux,  and 
that  rough  customer,  Wannamaker ;  all  of  them  had  your  order, 
and  didn't  pay  nothing." 

"  No  matter  about  iliem.  You  mean  to  tell  me,  Blodgit,  that 
you've  got  only  thirteen  guineas  for  me  ?" 

"  Hain't  got  that,  in  gould,  major  ;  for,  you  Dee,  the  powder 
And  ball,  and  the  three  muskets,  had  to  be  paid  for  out  of 
that." 


ROGUE  IN   GRAIN.  85 

"A  moment,  my  good  fellow.     How  many  of  the  corn-bins 

are  empty  ?" 

"  Oh !  none  empty,  major  ....  I  hain't  sold  so  much  corn  as 
that  comes  to." 

"  Ah,  well !  not  sold  so  much  corn  !     Stop  a  moment." 

Here  the  stranger  felt  in  his  pockets. 

"  Where  can  my  memorandum-book  be  ?  I  must  have  left  it, 
Blodgit,  whore  I  ate  supper.  I  had  it,  certainly,  before  I  sat 
down  to  table.  Do  run  off  to  the  house,  and  see  after  it;  and, 
liarkye,  don't  look  into  it,  as  it  contains  some  private  ir.:;tters 
concerning  the  army." 

The  other  eagerly  rose,  as  if  glad  to  escape  the  scrutiny 
which  he  had  been  undergoing;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  de 
scended  the  ladder,  and  emerged  from  the  stable,  the  door  of 
which  he  locked  behind  him.  The  stranger  smiled  as  he  heard 
the  bolt  shot  and  the  key  withdrawn ;  and,  rising  stealthily, 
lantern  in  hand,  he  too  descended,  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  stall  where  Blodgit's  horse  was  fastened. 

"  Third  stall  from  the  right,"  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
entered  it ;  "  thre,e  notches  in  centre-post,  iron  ring  on  top-post 
movable.  Let  us  see  —  let  us  feol." 

And,  thus  saying,  he  tried  the  post,  which  he  readily  found, 
and  discovered  that  it  was  secured  to  the  partition  dividing  one 
stall  from  another,  by  a  single,  but  large  screw  — that  it  was 
nowhere  nailed  to  the  partition,  and  that  it  worked  freely  be 
neath  his  hand. 

"  So  far,  all  promises  to  be  true.  The  lying  rascal !  The 
ungrateful  hound  !  But  I  will  lay  him  utterly  bare." 

Having  satisfied  his  curiosity  in  the  stall,  he  secreted  the  lan 
tern,  drew  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
stable,  carefully  locked  it,  and  withdrew  the  key;  then  stole 
off  to  the  cabin,  with  a  light,  swift  footstep,  pursuing  the  route 
in  the  darkness,  with  the  ease  of  one  to  whom  it  had  been  long 
familiar.  The  rain  was  still  falling,  but  not  heavily,  and  of 
this  he  seemed  to  take  no  heed.  He  passed  to  the  rear  of  the 
building,  and,  through  a  crevice,  was  enabled  to  discern  all  the 
movements  of  Blodgit.  The  latter  had  already  found  the 
memorandum-book,  but,  in  defiance  of  his  instructions,  wa* 
greedily  turning  over  its  pages,  auJ  reading  its  contents. 


86  THE   FOEAYERS. 

14  Nothing  here,"  he  muttered,  as  he  read ;  "  nothing  here,  that 
I  kin  see,  about  the  corn  and  fodder ;  but  here's  a  mighty  deal 
of  information  about  Greene's  army,  and  Marion's  men,  and 
Sumter's  chickens,  that  I  reckon  Lord  Rawdon  would  pay  a 
pretty  nice  little  amount  in  goulden  guineas  ef  he  could  only 
read  like  me." 

Suddenly,  his  mother,  starting  out  of  sleep,  called  to  him 
from  within  :  "  Pete  — Pete  Blodgit — that  you?" 

He  started  with  a  shiver  —  the  convulsion  of  guilt  and  fear — 
thrust  the  book  hastily  into  his  bosom,  and  strode,  without  an 
swering,  toward  the  door.     She  called  again. 
"  That  you,  Pete  ?" 
"  Yes,  it's  me." 
••  "What's  the  matter,  Pete  ?" 

"  Matter  enough.  Here's  the  major  a  wanting  to  drean  all 
the  money  out  of  me.  I'd  as  leave  he'd  drean  me  of  all  the 
blood  in  my  body." 

"  I'd  drean  Ms  first,  Pete  Blodgit.     I'd  never  let  him  hev' 
the  gould  that  I  hed  once  fairly  got  into  my  own  hands.    Come 
here  to  me,  Pete,  and  let  me  tell  you  what  you're  to  do." 
"  I  kain't  now  !     He's  a  waiting  for  me." 
"  Well,  you're  but  a  poor-sperited  creature,  ef  you  let  him 
drean  you  of  a  copper.     I'd  draw  a  knife  for  it,  Pete,  I  would!" 
"  Hush  up  :  who  knows  but  I  may  !" 

''Amiable  couple!"  muttered  the  stranger,  .as  he  listened 
without ;  "  and  this,  great  God,  is  human  nature ;  in  a  Chris 
tian  land  ;  where  no  house  is  without  its  Bible;  where  no  pre 
cinct  is  without  its  preacher  !  Here  is  a  mother,  on  the  verge 
of  the  grave,  counselling  her  own  son  to  murder,  for  a  paltry 
sum  of  gold !  And  these  are  people  for  whom  I  have  found 
shelter  and  protection  —  whom  I  have  kept  from  starvation  — 
whom  I  still  feed,  and  to  whom  I  have  given  the  very  servant 
to  whom  they  look  for  help  and  water !" 

But  there  was  no  time  for  soliloquy.  Pete  Blodgit  was 
already  about  to  undo  his  door,  and  the  stranger  stole  away 
swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  stable.  Here  he  housed  himself, 
ascending  once  more  to  the  fodder  loft,  and  resuming  his  place 
quif.tlv.  as  he  heard  the  key  of  the  other  slowly  t  irning  in  the 
lock 


ROGUE   IN  GRAIN.  37 

"  You  were  long  in  finding  it,  Pete,"  said  the  guest,  as  Blodgit 
handed  him  the  book. 

"  'Tifjs  hard  to  find,  major,  as  I  hed  to  feel  for  it :  —  I  hed 
no  light,  and  did'nt  want  to  wake  the  old  woman  to  git  the  one 
she  hed." 

"  Well,  as  you  had  no  light,  I  needn't  ask  you  whether  you 
read  anything  in  the  book." 

"It's  mighty  little  skill  I  hev'  in  reading,  any  how;  but  you 
tell'd  me  not,  you  know." 

Meanwhile,  the  stranger  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  book  ; 
then,  slowly  speaking,  he  said  :  — 

"  Pete  Blodgit,  I  have  tried  to  favor  you,  but  you  will  not 
let  me.  I  warned  you  to  speak  the  truth  to  me,  but  you 
have  been  deaf  to  the  warning.  Now,  hear  what  1  know.  You 
have  sold  both  cattle  and  provisions  to  Coffin's  commissary,  of 
which  you  have  not  told  me  a  syllable." 

"  Oh  !  but  he  paid  in  continental  currency,  major." 

"  Not  so,  sir  !  He  paid  you  in  guineas,  sir,  forty-seven  guin 
eas,  all  of  which  were  counted  out  into  your  own  hands." 

The  fellow  was  dumb  —  his  eyes  dilated  to  a  marvellous 
wideness  —  his  lips  quivered  —  his  teeth  almost  chattered;  but 
he  could  not  deliver  a  syllable  !  The  other  gavs  him  no 
respite. 

"  You  sold  to  Fisher,  also,  and  got  your  pay  in  gold  —  a  mat 
ter  of  nine  guineas  :  —  but  here,  look  over  that  list  for  yourself; 
and  say  what  other  items  might  be  set  down,  which  are  not 
there,  but  which  ought  to  be  taken  into  count  against  you !" 

The  criminal  took  the  paper  mechanically,  and,  while  the 
perspiration  rolled  down  his  face  and  forehead,  he  seemed  to 
peruse  the  document.  When  he  had  clone,  the  other  said  :  — 

"Now  hand  over  to  me  all  the  money  you've  got." 

Blodgit  dvew  a  leathern  sack  from  his  bohom  which  he  deliv 
ered  with  some  -alacrity  into  the  hands  of  the  major.  The  lat 
ter  untied  it,  spread  his  handkerchief,  and  poured  out  the  con 
tents,  which  he  deliberately  counted. 

"  Thirteen  guineas,  it  seems ;  and  this  continental  stuff1?" 

"  Four  thousand  three  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars  1" 
Blodgit,  uttered  the  amount  sonorously. 

"  Well  remembered.     Now,  Blodgit,  where's  the  twenty-five 


38  THE   FORAYERS. 

dollars  y  <u  receive!  in  Spanish  silver  from  Corporal  Rickarts 
of  the  Hessian  yagers  ?" 

"  Silver  —  Spanish  dollars  —  0  !  major,  I  quite  forgot  that.  I 
gin  that  to  the  old  woman  to  keep.  I'll  go  and  git  it  right  away." 

"  Nay,  leave  it  Avith  her !  But  how  comes  it,  Blodgit,  that 
this  small  balance  is  all  that  remains  of  the  amount  you  have 
received?" 

"Well,  but,  major,  —  there's  the  continental  paper." 

"None  of  that  nonsense,  Blodgit,  will  impose  on  me! 
Where's  the  gold  ?" 

"  And  you  forget,  major,  what  I  had  to  pay  for  the  muskets, 
the  powder  and  balls." 

"Ah  !: — and  where  are  they?" 

"  Thar  !  under  the  fodder  in  that  corner." 

"  Good.     Is  the  powder  in  kegs  ?" 

"  No,  major,  in  sheep-skins  and  bladders ;  and  tied  up  in  two 
eends  of  a  salt-bag." 

"  It  is  dry,  then,  and  in  convenient  form  for  removal  ?" 

"Oh!  yes!" 

"  And  this  is  all  the  money  that  you  have?" 

"It  dreans  all  the  blood  out  of  me,  major.  I  hain't  got  an 
other  shilling,  'cept  the  Spanish  dollars  that  I  gin  the  old 
woman  to  keep." 

"  You  would  no  doubt  be  grateful  to  any  person  who  should 
show  you  that  there  was  still  some  money  left,  both  in  gold  and 
silver  ?" 

"  As  I'm  a  living  sinner,  Major  Sinclair,  I  hain't  got  two  six 
pences  to  rub  ag'in  each  other.  I  swow  ! 

"  Stop,  man  !  Don't  rivet  the  chains  of  the  devil  about  your 
soul  by  an  oath  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  major  ?" 

"  I'll  show  you,  my  good  fellow,  in  a  moment,"  said  the 
other,  gathering  up  the  money,  and  returning  it  to  the  leathern 
wallet,  which  he  deposited  quietly  in  the  body  of  his  coat. 
This  done,  he  said  :  — 

Take  up  the  lantern  !" 

The  fellow  obeyed,  and  led  the  way,  as  biy  superior  directed, 
to  the  ladder,  both  descending  to  the  stable.  Here  Sinclair 
pointed  to  the  stall  containing  the  overseer's  beast. 


ROGUE   IN   GRAIN.  39 

"  Put  your  horse  into  another  stall."  It  was  done  in  silence. 
Blodgit  obeyed,  tremblingly,  in  all  things. 

"  Unscrew  me  that  post." 

"  Why,  it's  nailed  down  fast,  major." 

"  Unscrew,  unscrew  !"     The  fellow  submitted. 

"  Now  pull  up  the  post !" 

"  Why,  major,  it's  onpossible,  unless  we  dig.  It's  sunk  deep 
in  the  airth." 

"Try  it!" 

The  fellow  appeared  to  try,  but  the  post  appeared  still  to  re 
main  immovable.  Sinclair  approached  it,  passing  the  lantern 
into  the  hands  of  Bloclgit.  He  then  grasped  the  post  with  a  sin 
gle  hand.  As  he  did  so,  the  light  flickered  —  Blodgit  having 
reached  forward  his  right  hand  to  the  trough  against  which 
leaned  an  oaken  billet.  But  whether  he  designed  to  grasp  it 
or  not,  and  for  what  purpose,  must  be  only  matter  of  conjecture, 
Tor,  in  that  very  moment,  Sinclair  turned  full  upon  him,  and 
clapped  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

"  I  tell  you,  hold  the  lantern !  Make  a  movement,  to  the 
right  or  the  left,  and  I  blow  your  brains  out." 

The  fellow  fairly  shivered,  but  he  made  out  to  stammer:  — 

•«  Why,  major,  what's  the  trouble  ?     What  em  I  doing?" 

"  Enough,  Pete  Blodgit,  that  I  know  you  i  Hold  that  lan 
tern  steadily.  Beware!" 

With  this  speech — as  if  satisfied  of  his  securities — he  deigned 
not  another  word,  or  look,  to  the  fellow ;  but,  with  a  single 
hand,  tore  up  the  post  from  the  spot  where  it  seemed  to  be 
firmly  planted  in  the  earth.  This  act  required  no  effort,  the 
post  having  been  maintained  in  an  erect  position  simply  by  the 
single  screw  —  a  large  one  inleed  —  which  had  fastened  it  to 
the  partition 

"  Leave  the  stall !  Go  to  the  next  and  hold  your  lantern 
'4yer,"  was  the  dteri  command  of  his  visirer,  in  tones  that  co 
erced  the  will  CJL?  the  listener.  Blodgit  obeyed  in  silence, 
while  Siiic'.air,  stooping  to  the  hole  left  by  the  post,  drew  up 
an  eld  powder-keg  by  a  rope-hitch,  which  had  been  made 
about  it. 

"  You  are  surprised,  Mr.  Pete  Blodgit,  at  my  discovering 
golden  treasures  where  you  had  none,"  said  Sinclair,  as,  with 


4:0  THE    FORAY ERS. 

the  muzzle  of  bis  pistol,  he  knocked  in  the  head  of  the  keg, 
and  laid  bare  its  contents.  Blodgit  groaned  aloud  as  the  other 
poured  out  the  guineas  into  a  great  belt  which  he  had  drawn 
from  his  bosom,  and  now  strapped  about  his  body. 

"  Why  do  you  groan,  man  !  Ought  you  not  rather  to  rejoice 
at  my  good  fortune  ?" 

The  other  groaned  again. 

"  Pete  Blodgit,"  said  Sinclair,  "  your  gnawing  avarice  has 
made  you  a  rogue  and  a  traitor.  Were  I  to  serve  you  rightly, 
I  should  abandon  you  to  your  fate;  —  nay,  have  you  hung  to 
the  first  swinging  bough  !  But  you  are  sufficiently  punished  by 
the  loss  of  your  ill-appropriated  treasure.  Now  hear  me.  I  have 
an  eye  upon  you,  and  no  trust  in  you !  My  spies  shall  watch 
you.  I  shall  give  you  one  more  trial.  Do  you  try  and  be 
faithful !  I  shall  leave  in  your  hands  the  corn  and  fodder  still, 
to  be  sold  out  as  it  is  called  for.  I  shall  leave  you  the  negro- 
girl  to  help  your  mother  as  before.  You  have  the  hogs,  the 
cattle,  and  the  poultry ;  and  a  cover  over  your  own  heads.  Be 
faithful!" 

Blodgit  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"  Oh !  Lord,  major,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  It  was  the  old 
woman  that  tempted  me  !" 

"  Silence,  rascal,  and  say  nothing  of  your  mother !  I  doubt 
if  she  knows  of  your  proceedings.  It  is  the  bad  company  you 
have  kept,  sirrah,  your  own  gnawing  avarice,  your  own  cor 
rupt  heart,  that  have  led  you.  to  sin!  Away,  now!  —  not  a 
word  —  and  rout  ine  up  at  daylight.  I  will  then  give  you  my 
further  instructions.  Take  the  light  with  you,  and  begone !" 

The  culprit  did  not  vait  &  second  oro.er.  Ho  dashed  out ; 
and  Sinclair  heard  him  shoot  the  bolt  and  draw  out  the  key, 
and  fancied  that  there  was  a  deliberate  something  ir-  the  way 
of  his  doing  it,  that  spoke  for  a  secret  satisfaction,  in  the 
thought  of  the  fellow,  which  seemed  to  give  him  ?onsolation 
even  after  his  losses.  The  other  smiled  scornfully.*  however, 
and  muttered  :  — 

"  Rascal !  He  thinks  he  has  me  fast  till  morning !  Bui 
I  will  teach  him  another  lesson.  Does  he  suppose  me  silly 
enough  to  have  faith  in  him,  after  I  have  found  him  out  —  after 
I  have  stripped  him  of  his  stolen  treasures  —  after  I  have  shown 


ROGUE   IN  GRAIN.  41 

him  that  I  know  him  !  No  !  no  !  master  Blodgit ;  I  only  stroke 
the  cat's  fur  until  I  can  get  beyond  reach  of  her  claws  !  There 
is  work  to  be  done  before  morning  !  Were  I  to  linger  till 
peep  of  day,  I  should  never  see  another.  The  scamp  would 
soon  have  a  score  of  his  Jamaica-seekers  busy  with  their 
knives  about  my  throat.  I  must  try  and  keep  it  sound  fo» 
sweeter  customers." 


42  THE    FORAYERS. 


CHAPTER    IV 

HCW    TO    TRAIN    A    CAT    INTO    A    TM3BK. 

WE  are  not  sure  that  all  rascals  have  a  like  share  of  sensi 
bility  with  Master  Pete  Bloclgit,  and  exhibit  the  same  degree 
of  mortification  upon  detection.  We  do  not,  indeed,  pretend  to 
say  that  Pete's  irortification  was  the  result  of  any  peculiar 
sense  of  shame ;  and  are  half  inclined  to  suspect  that  he  would 
not  have  cared  a  button  about  the  exposure  of  his  short-comings, 
and  dubious  reckonings,  with  his  employer,  had  the  other  not 
shown  himself  so  exacting  —  so  tenacious  about  his  returns,  and 
so  pressing  and  so  punctilious  in  respect  to  immediate  restora 
tion.  That  discovery  of  the  hiding-place  of  his  treasure,  held 
to  be  so  perfectly  secure  —  that  was  the  crowning  misery  and 
mortification,  that  sent  Pete  to  his  wigwam,  almost  howling 
with  fury.  A  sneaking,  cur-like  scoundrel  naturally,  his  vexa 
tion,  under  this  affliction,  was  such  as  to  sublime  itself  to  rage ; 
and  he  felt,  for  a  moment,  almost  disposed  to  put  on  the  armor 
of  heroism,  and  boldly  grapple  with  the  insolent  assailant  who 
had  so  suddenly  dispossessed  him  of  his  accumulated  spoils. 

But  Pete  was  not  by  nature  endowed  to  be  a  hero.  He 
might  have  brained  Sinclair  with  his  bludgeon,  and  probably 
would  have  tried  to  do  so,  had  the  opportunity  been  allowed 
him  —  ay  we  naif  suspect  was  his  intention,  at  the  moment 
when  his  secret  treasure  was  discovered;  —  but,  to  brave  the 
enemy  boldly,  with  naked  weapon,  front  to  front,  and  eye 
looking  into  eye,  was  by  no  means  the  course  of  action  which 
Pete  was  prepared  either  by  nature  or  education  to  attempt. 

But  he  could  rage  fiercely,  the  danger  not  present  —  nay,  re 
solve  terribly  in  the  moment  of  security  —  and  his  wrath  burst 
forth  into  a  perfect  yell,  when  he  found  himself  fairly  within 
his  cabin,  with  the  door  fastened  behind  him.  He  dashed  the 
lauteru  down  upon  the  table,  and  smote  the  table  itself  with  a 


HOW   TO    TRAIN    A    CAT   INTO    A   TIGER.  43 

heavy  fist,  while  groan  after  groan  broke  from  his  breast,,  the 
proof  of  that  terrible  avarice  which  filled  his  heart,  and  •which 
had  been  thus  deprived  of  all  its  accumulated  provisipn,  "  at 
one  foil  swoop  !" 

His  mother,  wlio  was  naturally  wakeful,  and  whom  the  pre 
vious  communication  of  the  son  had  rendered  anxiously  so.  now 
cried  to  him  from  within  :-— 

"  W ell,  Pete,  you  hain't  given  up  the  gould  ?" 

"  Hain't  I  then  ]     Hell !  what  could  I  do  ?" 

"  What,  all  ?     You  d  m't  say  all  ?" 

"  Every  copper  !     I'm  dreaned  of  every  button  !" 

"I'd  ha'  died  first!"  responded  the  venerable  rheumatic. 
"  I'd  ha'  tried  knife  and  bullet  for  it,  before  I'd  ha'  let  myself 
be  dreaned  of  all  my  hard  yairnings  by  any  man  that  ever 
broke  bread.  But  I  always  told  you,  you  was  a  mean-sperrited 
critter !  What's  a  man  good  for,  ef  he  won't  stand  a  fight  for 
his  yaimiugs  ?" 

"  Oh  !  hush,  I  say,  mother  !  You  don't  know  i  How  em  1 
to  stand  up  lo  a  fair  fight,  me  a  lame  pusson,  and  a  small  pusson 
to  boot,  with  sich  a  powerful  man  as  Willie  Sinclair  1  You  know 
it's  all  nonsense  to  talk  so." 

"  Who  talks  of  a  fair  fight,  but  your  own  fool-head  ?  I  knows 
well  enough  you'd  bs  nothing  in  the  hands  of  Willie  Sinclair,  ef 
lie  know'd  what  yon  was  a-driving  at.  But  youVe  had  chaince 
enough  of  doing-  Oio  thing  without  any  fight  at  all !  Whar'  was 
your  eyes,  your  hand,  your  knife,  when  he  was  a-eating,  or 
a-lying  down,  or  a-counting  out  the  money,  or  looking  over  his 
papers?  Lord  !  ef  :„  hed  been  me,  I  reckon  I  could  ha'  found 
a  hundred  chainces  for  laying  him  over  the  head  with  a  hick 
ory,  or  driving  a  sharp  knife  cl'ar  down  into  his  ribs.  Thar's 
always  chainces  enough  for  any  man  that's  got  a  man's  heart  in 
Ma  buzzom,  Pete  Blodgit !  But  you  ain't  no  man  at  all,  as  I've 
told  you  a  thousand  times.  Ef  you  was  a  man,  'twouldn't  all 
now  stand  as  it  is;  and  Willie  Sinclair  wouldn't  git  off  with 
that  gould,  though  he's  got  it  in  his  pocket,  as  you  say.  Thar's 
many  ways  for  spiling  a  man's  marching,  ef  thar'  was  only  a 
man  ready  to  chock  the  wheels,  or  cut  the  traces." 

"  Well,  hush,  now,  mother.  'Taiu't  all  over  yit,  as  yo?.  say ; 
and  I'm  a-thhiking  how  I  shall  work  it." 


THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Oh !  much  good  your  thinking  will  do  you,  Pete,  ef  yon 
does  it  all  by  your  own  self.  Come  in  here  to  me,  and  we'll 
frJk  it  over  together.  It  makes  me  strain  my  throat  too  much 
to  talk  to  you  out  thai1'.  Come  in,  I  say !  Lord  !  ef  I  was 
only  a  man !" 

"  I  w;sh  you  was  !"  sullenly  responded  the  son,  as  he  passed 
into  the  chamber. 

"Set  down  thar' —  longside  of  me  on  the  bed,  Pete  —  set 
down !  And,  now,  tell  me  all  about  it,  Pete.  Yen  say  he  tukv 
the  whole  thirteen  guineas,  and  gin'  you  nothing  ?" 

"Thirteen  guineas!  Lord!  ef  that  was  all!  — -itwao  nigh 
on  to  a  hundred  guineas  that  he  dreaned  out  of  me  !  It  was !" 

"  The  Lord  ha'  marsy  upon  my  poor  soul !  And  you  let  any 
man  sweep  you  clean,  of  nigh  on  to  a  hundred  guineas,  and  you 
never  struck  a  stroke  ?" 

"  Well,  you  needn't  go  on  a-saying  the  same  foolish  thing 
over  and  over  ag'in,  as  ef  I  had  no  foelin'o !"  growled  the  fel 
low  impatiently. 

"  And  I  wonder  what's  the  sarvice  sich  feelin's  as  yours  are 
a-guine  to  do  any  free  white  man  1  Ef  the  right  feelin's  was  in 
your  buzzum,  you'd  a  dreaned  his  heart's  blood,  afore  he'd  ha' 
dreaned  your  pockets  !" 

"  Oh !  you  needn't  talk,  neither ;  we'll  see  what  you're 
a-guine  to  say  and  to  do,  when  he  comes  at  you  in  the  morning 
for  that  bag  of  silver  dollars  I  gin'  you  to  put  away." 

"  What !  you  didn't  tell  him  of  them  dollars,  too,  did  you  ?" 
almost  screamed  the  old  woman. 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  He  know'd  all  about  it !  He  know'd 
everything !" 

"  And  how  kim  he  to  know  ?  ' 

"  From  the  devil  himself,  I  reckon ;  for  I  kain't  guess  how 
lie  found  out  everything,  even  to  the  kag  of  guineas  in  the 
stable." 

"  And  a  pretty  place  to  hide  a  kag  of  guineas  !  Oh  !  Peto 
Blodgit,  of  you  was  a  born  ediot  you  couldn't  ha'  done  a  moro 
foolish  t>..<ng!" 

"  Well,  we'll  see  how  you'll  hide  away  them  dollars  when  li* 
comes  for  'em  in  the  morning." 
•  "And  you're  a-guine  to  let  him  pee  morning  shine,  you  pool 


HOW  TO   TRAtN   A   CAT  INTO   A   TIGER.  45 

sperrited,  mean  critter !  You'll  let  him  drean  me,  too,  of  all 
the  Icetle  bit  of  money  I've  put  away  ag'in  bad  weather1?" 

"Well,  it's  his  own  money  —  that  is,  it's  his  sister'Sj  wluch  is 
tie  same  thing,  you  know." 

"  And  what  do  I  care  for  him,  or  his  sister  ?  What'd  in  ray 
pocket's  mine,  I  tell  you ;  and  I'll  hold  on  to  it,  as  I  would  to 
dear  life,  I  tell  you  !  He's  a  fool  that  lets  himself  be  bled  to 
death,  and  dreaned  of  all  his  yairnings,  when  there's  a  way  ',o 
stop  the  drean." 

"  Ha  !  that's  it  I  How  will  you  stop  the  drean  ?  Jest  let  mo. 
know  what  you'll  say  and  do  to  save  them  Spanish  dollars  ?" 

"  Ef  you  was  the  right  sort  of  man,  yoird  be  doing  without 
axing  me.  But,  as  you  ain't,  I'll  tell  you.  Oh !  ef  I  was  a 
man,  I  wouldn't  waste  words  on  you  nor  Ir.m  !  I'd  do  it  my 
self,  and  nobody'd  be  the  wiser  of  what  was  done  till  it  was  too 
late  to  put  in  with  a  '  stop  you  thar  !'  Look  you,  Pete  Blodgit, 
I  kin  hardly  lift  a  leg,  therefore  'tain't  possible  for  me  to  do 
nothing ;  but  you — you  must  pluck  up  heart,  Pete,  and  jest  do 
as  I  tell  you." 

"  Git  on  —  quick  !     You're  a-burning  daylight !" 

"  Well :  you've  a  gnn  !  Ain't  thar'  a  way  to  shoot  through 
the  logs?" 

"  Not  easy  !  Besides,  in  all  them  blades,  thar's  no  saying  in 
jist  what  p!sce  he  sleeps." 

"  Then  you  must  knifs  him  as  he  sleeps  !" 

"  Easy  enough,  ef  you  could  git  at  him  without  waking  him. 
But  that's  the  trouble.  While  you're  a-working  your  way  at 
him,  he  mayn't  be  taking  it  easy." 

"  And  kain't  you  sneak  like  a  cat,  ef  you  kain't  fight  like  a 
tiger.  Kain't  you  git  into  the  stable,  boy,  without  screaking 
the  lock  as  it  turns,  or  the  door  on  its  hinges  ?  You've  got  the 
key,  and  you've  got  the  feet  and  cunning  of  a  cat !" 

"Ay,  the  key's  safe" — and  he  drew  it  from  his  pocket  — 
"  and  he's  safe,  too,  till  morning." 

"  Good  !  And  so  you  git  into  the  stable,  and  creep  up  into 
the  loft,  and  feel  about,  softly,  as  any  kitten,  and  jest  you  make 
sure  when  you  go  to  stick !" 

"  He'll  wake  for  sartin  !  The  fodder's  all  about,  and  it  will 
rustle." 


46  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  No  !  no  !  he  won't  wake  !  He's  pretty  veil  tired  down  L) 
his  riding.  I  know'd  it  from  his  talk,  and  he  said  as  much 
He'll  sleep  sound  like  a  bag  of  feathers,  I  tell  you,  the  moment 
he  lays  himself  down  for  it.  But  jest  you  take  your  time,  an<! 
feel  your  way,  and  be  up  and  doing,  with  a  heart  that's  all  the 
time  a  telling  you  —  'Pete,  don't  you  lose  them  guineas! 
Giminie  !  a'most  a  hundred  !  And  you  lied  a'most  a  hundred 
guineas,  yon  mean-sperrited  critter,  and  never  let  your  own 
mother  know  a  word  about  it  ?" 

"  Oh  !  hush  about  all  that,  mother  !  The  thing  now  is  how 
to  ?it  'em  back." 

'-  Hev'nt  I  told  you  ?  Go  you  now,  and  set  about  it.  Do  it 
as  I  tell  you.  You  were  a  born  sneak,  and  ought  to  be  able  to 
crawl  up,  and  feel  where  his  heart  beats,  and  drive  your  knife 
down  hard  like  a  hammer." 

"  I  won't  try  the  knife.  I  hev'  pistols  ;  good  ones,  too,  with 
mouths  like  bulldogs ;  and  a  pair  half-ounce  bullets  in  'em  both." 

"The  knife's  safest,  Pete!  Git  your  heart  up!  That's 
what  you  want !  Only  a  leetle  more  of  the  tiger,  and  less  of 
the  cat,  and  Willie  Sinclah  wouldn't  ua?  ?een  the  shine  of  them 
guineas,  and  won't  carry  'em  off,  now  he's  got  V.m  !" 

"  I'll  take  both — knife  and  pistols  !  But  I'm  deuced  jubous 
about  it,  mother.  Ef  I  miss,  and  he  should  wake,  he'll  chop  me 
to  sausage-meat  in  a  twink  !" 

"  What !  and  you  with  two  pistob  in.  your  grip?  V1 

"  Yes  !  ef  I  had  twenty  !  He's  got  somethirg  that  I  wants, 
mother,  and  what  makes  a  fighting-man.'' 

"  It's  the  heart,  Pete  !  But  you've  got  a  heart  for  the  guin 
eas,  and  a  man  ought  to  fight  for  the  thing  he  loves  !  A'most 
a  hundred  guineas  !  Pete  Blodgit,  ef  you  let's  Willie  Sinclair 
git  off  with  them  hundred  guineas,  I'll  cut  your  heart  out !  I 
will !  Go  !  sneak  upon  him,  and  dig  into  his  ribs  ontil  you  hear 
the  rattle  in  his  throat !  Never  stop  digging  till  you  hear  him 
gurgle  out  his  last !  It's  for  a  hundred  guineas,  you  know  !" 

And  clutching  the  fellow  by  the  wrist,  with  a  savage  energy, 
as  she  spoke,  she  drew  him  toward  her  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  she  smote  him  upon  the  breast,  as  if  to  shovr  hL . 
the  exact  manner  in  which  the  deed  was  to  be  done.  Pete 
wondered  at  the  sinewy  grasp  whicl-  *lw  old  woman  still  pop 


HOW   TO   TRAIN   A   CAT   INTO    A    TIGER.  47 

sessed,  and  could  not  forbear  murmuring  —  an  equal  acknowl 
edgment  of  liis  own  feebleness  and  her  strength  of  will  —  "Ah' 
mammy,  ef  I  only  had  sich  a  heart  as  your'n  in  my  buzzum !" 

"  Ah  !  Pete,  but  I  was  a  she-tiger  one  time  !  Your  daddy 
know'd  it  well.  He  warn't  no  coward  neither,  Pete ;  yet 
many  a  times  he  said  to  me  — '  Polly,  you  ought  to  have  been 
a  man  and  a  sodger  !'  and,  the  Lord  knows,  I  ought  !  But 
you've  got  heart  enough,  Pete,  ef  you'll  only  trust  to  it! 
You're  afeard  of  your  own  heart,  now ;  and  that's  bad,  bekaifie 
it  keeps  you  from  trying !  But  jest  you  try  now,  Pete,  and 
niind  and  do  it  as  your  old  mammy  tells  you !  Snake  it  into 
the  stable,  and  up  the  loft,  and  go  on  snaking  it  tell  you  feel 
iest  where's  he's  a-lying.;  then  put  it  to  him,  quick  and  hard  ! 
Only  be  sure  and  feel  first  where  to  stick.  Go  now,  quick,  and 
do  it !  Do  it,  I  say  !  or  don't  you  let  me  see  that  face  of  your'n 
ag'in  !" 

"  I'll  do  it !"  exclaimed  the  son,  starting  up  with  a  show  of 
resolution  which  delighted  the  old  woman,  and  encouraged  the 
wretch  himself. 

"Do  it,  Pete,  like  a  man!  and  while  you're  a-doing  it,  I'll 
be  a-praying  for  you,  Pete  —  your  mother  will  be  praying  for 
you,  Pete!  Never  forgit,  when  the  time  comes  for  you  to 
strike,  that  there's  a  hundred  guineas  depending  upon  it,  in  the 
dead  man's  pocket !" 

The  promise  to  pray  for  him,  while  he  sped  on  his  devout 
mission,  seemed  very  much  to  encourage  our  young  Christian  ; 
since  he  now  began  to  move  with  a  greatly  increased  show  of 
determination  and  energy.  He  examined  his  pistols,  felt  the 
charge  with  the  ramrod,  picked  the  flints,  saw  to  the  priming, 
then  stuck  the  weapons  in  his  girdle.  His  couteau  de  chasse — 
for  Pete  was  a  hunter,  equally  of  hogs  and  deer — he  subjected 
to  as  careful  a  scrutiny ;  and,  satisfied  with  his  tools,  he  threw 
open  his  door  in  order  to  proceed  to  work ;  but  closed  it 
again,  quick  as  lightning,  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  if 
not  apprehension  — 

"  What'n  the  name  of  old  Billzebub  can  that  be  a-coming !" 

Let  us  leave  him  for  a  brief  space,  while  we  see  to  other 
parties  in  this  our  history,  from  whom  we  may  also  learn  the 
of  Master  Blodgit's  surprise. 


48  THE  FORAYER8. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    HELL-FIRE    DICKS. 

WE  have  seen  that  Willie  Sinclair  had  his  doubts  respecting 
the  virtue  of  the  good  people  inhabiting  the  cottage,  though  he 
eouid  not  exactly  conjecture  in  what  particular  mode  it  was 
destined  to  be  exercised  in  respect  to  himself.  His  precautions, 
however,  were  so  taken  as  measurably  to  prepare  him  for  any 
of  the  peculiar  processes  of  Master  Blodgit.  Scarcely  had  the 
latter  disappeared  with  his  light  into  the  cottage,  than  our  hero 
proceeded  to  his  preparations. 

The  first  step  was  to  put  his  good  steed  into  harness.  Nim- 
rod  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  performance,  but  he  was 
docile;  and  only  showed  his  dissatisfaction  by  a' more  rapid 
demonstration  upon  the  ears  of  corn  still  remaining  unmunched 
in  the  trough.  He  sought  thus  to  provide  against  the  necessity 
of  soon  departing  from  pleasant  pastures;  —  a  lesson  of  fore 
thought  which  the  war-horse  and  soldier  acquire  with  singular 
and  equal  aptitude ;  and,  while  his  master  clapped  on  saddle 
cloth  and  saddle,  he  buried  his  head  deep  in  the  trough;  with  a 
dogged  resolution  to  keep  it  there  just  as  long  —  as  he  was  per 
mitted.  He  did  not  exactly  anticipate  the  sort  of  duty  he  was 
to  perform,  or  the  burden  he  was  to  carry ;  but  he  had  old  ex 
periences  of  the  rough  usages  of  war  ;  and  he  was  one  of  those 
philosophical  horses  that  always  prepare  for  the  worst,  and 
meekly  resign  themselves  to  what  they  can  not  resisY  — Not 
that  he  was  a  beast  wanting  in  spirit !  See  him  on  a  charge, 
and  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  his  blood.  But  your  gener 
ous  bloods  are  always  most  gentle ;  and  docility  is  one  of  the 
best  proofs  of  the  longest-lived  courage,  whether  in  man  or 
beast. 

Sinclair  patted  Nimrod's  shoulders  affectionately,  and  left  him 
saddled  and  bridled,  but'unbitted,  still  munching  with  head  in 


THE   HELL-FIRE   DICKS.  49 

the  trough.  The  trooper  next  wen'  above,  and  brought  down 
from  the  loft  the  sack  of  powder,  t'  e  muskets  and  bullets,  which 
Blodgit  had  stored  away.  The  performance,  carried  on  entirely 
in  the  dark,  was  necessarily  a  somewhat  slow  one:  but  Sinclair 
knew  the  precincts  well ;  and,  being  equally  cool  and  prompt, 
he  contrived  to  do  the  work  in  the  least  possible  period  of  time. 
The  powder,  alone,  did  he  strap  upon  the  steed.  The  muskets 
and  bullets  he  carried  forth  —  using  his  pass-key  to  emerge 
from  the  stable  —  into  the  contiguous  woods,  some  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  stable,  where  he  hid  them  in  the  hollow  of  a 
tree;  —  the  route  to  which  he  pursued  with  little  difficulty  — 
like  one  accustomed  —  in  spite  of  the  darkness  which  hung 
heavily  over  the  scene.  A  few  handfuls  of  the  bullets,  alone, 
did  he  sling  upon  the  crupper  of  his  horse. 

"  What  with  my  weight,  Nim,"  quoth  he,  addressing  hid 
steed  —  "a  round  hundred  and  fifty  at  least  —  this  goodly  pouch 
of  guineas,  some  twenty  weight  of  powder,  and  a  few  pounds 
of  ball,  you  have  something  to  carry  besides  your  provender, 
old  fellow  ! — but  two  hours  will  suffice — two  hours." 

And  he  stroked  the  mane  of  the  beast  affectionately,  slipped 

•  -lie  bridle  over  his  neck,  now  bitted  him,  and  satisfied  himself, 

a  nice  examination,  that  his  preparations  were  all  complete. 

This  done,  he  stole  forth  once  more  from  the  stable,  and  took 

uis  course  toward  the  dwelling  of  Blodgit  and  his  dam.     All 

seemed  to  be  quiet  in  that  quarter,  and,  whether  it  was  that 

Blodgit  had  concealed  his  light,  or  extinguished  it,  no  gleam 

was  apparent  through  the  crevices  of  the  cabin.     Satisfied  now 

that  he  might  bring  out  his  horse  in  safety,  Sinclair  returned 

to  the  stable  and  did  so. 

The  beast  offered  no  objections,  and  did  not  even  exhibit  the 
reluctance  which  we  are  very  sure  he  felt.  His  master  did  not 
mount,  but  led  the  animal,  with  shortened  rein,  around  the  sta 
ble  ;  then  struck  for  the  woods  above,  by  a  course  which  carried 
him  as  far  as  possible  from  the  house.  His  object  was  to  gain 
the  road  without  alarming  the  senses  of  the  overseer. 

He  had  proceeded,  in  this  cautious  manner,  about  a  hundred 
yards,  when  he  fancied  that  he  heard  a  cry,  and  a  sound  of 
voices,  brought  up  by  the  night  wind. 

He  paused  to  listen.     The  rain  had  ceased  to  fall,  the  wind 


50  THE    FORAYERS. 

was  freshening,  a  few  stars  began  to  peep  out,  through  certait 
rents,  here  and  there,  in  the  "  blanket  of  the  dark,"  and  the 
prospect  was  that  of  a  clear  morning.  Still,  the  atmosphere 
was  sufficiently  damp  to  form  a  good  medium  for  the  trans 
mission  of  sound,  and  the  rising  breeze  favored  the  conveyance. 
The  cries  were  repeated ;  and  Sinclair  was  now  satisfied  that 
they  issued  from  human  throats. 

He  hurried  his  steed  onward,  still  leading  him,  until  he  had 
increased  the  space  between  himself  and  Blodgit's  wigwam  to 
some  three  hundred  yards ;  then,  hiding  the  animal  in  a  thick 
bit  of  wood,  not  more  that  fifty  yards  from  the  roadside,  he 
coolly  took  his  way  back  alone  toward  the  cottage,  to  which 
the  sounds  continued  to  approach  from  below.  They  proved 
to  be  the  shouts  of  men,  doubtless  half  drunk,  who,  as  they 
rode,  shrieked  and  yelled  like  mad;—  and  the  heavy  tramp  of 
their  horses  could  be  heard  mingling  with  their  cries. 

The  quick,  intelligent  mind  of  Sinclair  readily  conceived  the 
approaching  parties  to  belong  to  that  gang  of  idle,  and,  no 
doubt,  outlawed  persons,  of  whom  good  Mrs.  Blodgit  had  unwit 
tingly  revealed  her  son's  knowledge  ;  and  the  major  of  dragoons 
"  *itly  congratulated  himself  on  having  so  seasonably  left  the 
..able.  But  he  did  not,  for  this,  conceive  the  necessity  of  imme 
diate  flight.  On  the  contrary,  it  became  a  good  soldierly  policy, 
just  at  this  juncture,  to  see  who  these  people  were.  He  relied 
for  his  security  on  his  own  precautions;  —  on  the  fact  that  he 
could  not  be  tracked  during  the  darkness,  and  with  so  much 
water  on  the  ground.  Besides,  not  being  supposed  by  Blodgit 
to  have  left  the  stable,  he  held  a  position  of  great  vantage,  which 
made  large  odds  in  his  favor,  in  the  event  of  that  worthy  design 
ing  any  evil  against  him.  Accordingly,  he  continued  to  press  on 
toward  the  cottage,  keeping  his  person  covered,  wherever  he 
could,  by  the  trees  —  of  each  of  which  he  seemed  U  possess  an 
individual  knowledge.  He  finally  made  his  way  so  closely  to 
the  cabin  that  a  few  steps,  at  any  moment,  would  bring  him  to 
any  quarter  of  it. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment,  that  Pete  Blodgit,  haying  worked 
up  his  courage  to  the  striking,  or  rather  to  the  sticking  point, 
under  the  counsels  of  his  virtuous  dam,  was  preparing  to  go 
forth,  pistols  at  girdle  and  knife  in  hand,  in  the  direction  of  th« 


THE   HELL-FIRE   DICKS.  51 

stable.  But  Pete's  courage  was  not  of  a  very  certain  quality. 
lie  had  reached  the  door  of  his  wigwam,  and  opened  it,  when 
his  ears  were  saluted  by  the  distant  shoutings  which  had 
etartled  Sinclair. 

"What  can  that  be?"  he  muttered,  instinctively  reclosing 
the  door.  ^  Another  shout,  more  distinct,  showed  the  cries  to  be 
approaching. 

<<  It's  '  Hell-fire  Dick,'  by  the  pipers,  and  I  reckon  he's  got 
Skin-the-Sarpent  and  Yallow  Janders  along  with  him." 

The  shouts  now  reached  his  mother's  ears. 

"Pete!  Pete!"  she  cried,  "there's  your  fellows,  now,  and 
they're  just  come  in  time  to  spile  your  sport.  May  the  devil 
take  'em  who  sent  'em  !" 

"To  spile  it!  — no,  indeed!  They've  come  to  help!  I 
reckon  Willie  Sinclair  kain't  git  off  from  the  gripe  of  Hell-fire 
Dick." 

The  cowardly  heart  of  Pete  Blodgit,  which  had  begun  to 
shrink  already  at  the  thought  of  the  encounter  he  might  have 
with  Sinclair,  suggested  to  him  an  alliance  with  the  ruffian  he 
had  named,  for  the  better  execution  of  the  task  which  he  hir 
self  feared  to  perform.     But  the  shrewder  avarice  of  th> 
woman  conceived,  in  a  moment,  all  the  dangers  of  sucn  t  . 
alliance. 

"  You're  a  born  fool,  Pete  Blodgit,  ef  ever  there  was  one  f 
and  when  « Hell-fire  Dick'  settles  with  Willie  Sinclair,  who's 
guine  to  make  Hell-fire  Dick  settle  with  you?  Do  you  reckon 
on  him  giving  up  any  of  the  gould  to  you,  ef  so  be  he  does  all 
the  work  ?" 

"  But  I  ain't-  guine  to  let  him  do  all !  I'll  git  him  to  help 
me,  and  I'll  let  him  have  a  share." 

"  What  sort  o'  share  will  he  give  you  ?  A  guinea  out  of  the 
hundred  !  No  !  no  !  Pete  : — you  don't  want  no  help  to  settle  a 
sleeping  man  !  Snake  it  yourself,  Pete ;  and  don't  ax  for  any 
help.  Don't  let  Hell-fire  Dick  and  the  other  fellows  know  that 
Willie  Sinclair  is  here.  Git  'em  off  as  soon  as  you  kin,  and  then 
do  it  all  by  yourself.  Give  'em  the  rum  that  they're  a  coming 
after ;  frr  I  know  you've  got  a  kag,  though  you  did  swear  to 
the  major  that  you  hadn't  a  drop 

"  And  I  hadn't  for  him,  /" 


THE   FORAYERS. 

enough  !  He  warn't  the  person  to  be  told  what  yv* 
hed.  Let  these  chaps  hev'  the  liquor,  and  say  nothing  about 
the  cost ;  and  ax  'em  for  no  money,  and  hide  the  cards  out  o' 
sight,  and  don't  offer  to  play ;  but  jist  you  git  'em  off  as  soon 
as  you  kin,  and  hurry  to  the  business  by  your  one  self.  Ef  you 
fcin  git  your  own  heart  strong  for  it,  Pete,  the  work  is  easy 
enough.  But  you're  so  mean-sperited.  You've  no  more  heart 
frr  anything  than  a  possum.  Oh!  ef  I  was  a  man!  —  or  ef  I 
wasn't  jist  the  same  as  tied  down  to  the  floor  by  this  cussed 
rheumAtiz,  I'd  never  let  one  of  them  gould  guineas  go  out  of 
that  fodder  loft,  'cept  with  my  consenting." 

The  shouting  visitors  were  now  at  the  entrance.  The  virtuous 
couple  were  silent,  waiting  the  summons  for  admission.  Three 
or  four  horses  galloped  heavily  up  to  the  wigwam,  and  with 
*hout,  and  whoop,  and  yell,  and  halloo,  Hell-fire  Dick  smote 
?ipon  the  door. 

"Hello,  in  thar,  Pete  Blodgit !  Up  with  you,  my  yaller 
thicken,  and  let's  see  ef  you've  got  over  the  pip  yit !  Open  to 
the  sky-scrapers,  and  the  bouncing  wild  cats;  and  hear  'em 
scream  to  beat  all  nater !  Whoo  !  whoo  !  whoo  !  whoo  !  — 

"  We  are  the  lads  o'  the  morning, 

That  are  off  by  the  peep  o'  day ;  — 
And  we  never  take  any  warning 
To  be  off,  when  the  work  is  play." 

•«  "We  are  the  beautiful  sinners  of  salvation,  and  don't  care  for 
the  man  that  prays.  Let's  in,  Pete !  Open,  little  fellow,  or 
we'll  make  your  clapboards  fly  !  Twon't  take  much  to  give 
your  cabin  a  slant !  What  'say,  boys  —  won't  a  back-and-rush 
of  the  nags  do  it  1  Whoo  !  whoo  !  open,  I  say  !" 

And  bang,  bang,  upon  the  door,  went  the  repeated  blows 
from  whip  and  bludgeon ;  a  perfect  storm-chorus  of  shout  and 
song,  and  oath  and  "  hellaballoo,"  echoing  the  glib  speech  of 
the  fiery  leader  of  the  gang. 

"Hello,  out  thar!  What's  the  mischief?  Who's  to  come 
in  r  was  the  response  of  Pete  from  the  house,  spoken  drawling- 
ly,  with  several  yawns  between,  as  if  he  had  been  roused  from 
sleep. 

"  Open  to  the  devil  and  all  his  imps !"  was  the  yell.  "  He's 
come  a'ter  you  at  last !  You've  had  a  honey  time,  my  chick 


THE   HELL-FIRE   DICKS.  53 

en !  Time's  up !  Hev'  to  go,  lad.  No  git  off  now.  Hell's 
hot !  Don't  keep  your  master  waiting !  Open,  I  say !  Whoo  ! 
whoo !  whoop  !  Hurrah  for  old  Horny  !" 

And  Pete  was  fain  to  undo  the  door  in  short  order,  to  save  it 
from  the  blows  which  thun  iered  upon  it,  and  threatened  to  drive 
it  from  bolt  and  hinges.  Scarcely  had  the  valves  parted,  Blod- 
git  showing  himself  at  the  entrance,  when  his  shoulders  were 
saluted  with  a  smart  stroke  of  Hell-fire  Dick's  whip,  laid  on  with 
unction,  once,  twice,  thrice  ! 

"  The  devil  smacks  sweet  and  close,  Honey  Pete,"  cried  the 
desperado,  as  he  flung  himself  recklessly  from  his  horse  into  the 
hall ;  never  once  heeding  the  angry  cry  which  Blodgit  gave 
under  his  sharp  infliction.  Three  other  fellows  followed  the 
example  of  their  leader,  darting  in  with  shout  and  scream,  and 
flinging  their  bridles  to  the  victim. 

"  Hitch  'em,  Pete  ;  or,  better  take  'em  to  the  stable,  and  fling 
'em  down  some  fodder.  We'll  make  a  short  night  of  it  with  you. 
Hitch  'em  first  to  a  swinging  limb,  and  let's  have  some  Jamaica 
to  take  the  taste  of  this  all-fired  rainwater  out  of  our  skins. 
Be  spry  now,  my  chicken,  and  don't  keep  a  gentleman  devil 
a-waiting  on  your  tarrapin  motions." 

The  old  woman  groaned  aloud  from  within  — groaned  to 
make  them  hear. 

"  What  the  blazes  does  the  old  woman  grunt  about !  Hello, 
in  thar,  mammy !  what's  the  trouble  in  your  intrails,  that  you 
give  out  so  tremenjus  ?" 

"Trouble  enough,  you  rapscallions,  when  such  tear-devils 
as  you  comes  about  one's  house.  I  wish  you  was  all  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  infarnal  pit  where  you're  bound  for.  Git  along  with 
you  now,  arid  leave  a  poor  sick  body  in  peace,  won't  you? 
Thar's  no  rum  here,  I  tell  you  ;  thar's  nothing  here  to  make 
you  stay." 

"  En'  I'd  like  to  see  what  there  is  to  make  us  go!"  growled 
bnck  one  of  the  ruffians,  whom  they  knew  by  the  nom  de  guerre 
of  "  Skin-the-Serpent."—  "  Shet  up,  most  respectable  old  lady, 
and  no  matter  what  you  do,  don't  forgit  to  go  decent.  A  civi) 
tongue  in  your  head  will  be  all  the  better  of  a  sick  woman.  As 
for  no  rum,  we'll  set  that  P-,t6  Blodgit  looks  jest  where  he 
knows  to  find  it !' 


54  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  Ef  he  don't,  we'll  find  him  wanting !" 

»  Yes,  indeed  !  and  whar'  will  he  be  then  1  We  know  a  trick 
or  two,  old  lady,  to  convart  your  son  into  a  puncheon,  and 
make  the  red  liquor  run  from  him  as  free  as  water  from  the 
cloud.  Ho  !  Pete,  gi's  another  candle  here.  Thar's  no  seeing 
how  beautiful  you  air,  by  this  cussed  spitting  dip.  Whoop ! 
Hoss,  be  spry  ef  you  wouldn't  hev'  another  devil's  smack  jest 
on  the  shoulders  whar'  it's  already  raw." 

Blodgit  obeyed  in  all  things  like  a  beaten  hound.  He  knew 
his  masters  They  knew  their  slave.  They  drove  him  hither 
and  thither,  finding  him  ceaseless  employment,  until  they  were 
fully  engaged  upon  the  rum,  which,  by  this  time,  he  had  para 
ded  upon  the  table. 

Around  this  each  ruffian  took  his  place.  Tin  cups  formed 
their  only  drinking  vessels.  The  rum  was  scarcely  mingled 
with  water,  dashed  only,  as  it  were,  apologetically.  The  two 
tallow-candles,  which  smoked  and  spate,  rather  than  burned 
upon  the  board,  enable  us  sufficiently  to  survey  the  group 
which  better  lights  might  only  have  shown  to  be  too  hideous 
for  inspection. 

"  Hell-fire  Dick"  — he  had  lost  the  proprietorship  of  any  more 
Christian  name  — presided ;  his  visage,  scarred  and  savage,  fully 
justifying  the  title  which  he  bore.     His  eyes  were  great  and 
rolling,  owl-like,  in  a  broad  but  degraded  forehead.     The  black 
hair  came  down  over  cheeks  and  neck,  worn  long  to  conceal 
some  horrid  scars.     His  lips  had  been  split  by  stroke  of  sabre. 
His  teeth  projected,  very  white,  like  enormous  spades.     They 
were  his  pride ;  and  he  claimed  to  be  as  powerful  in  the  gripe 
of  his  jaw,  as  in  that  of  the  fist.      He  was  a  stout  and  swarthy 
giant  — short,  thick,  with  bull-dog  figure  and  figure-head  — and 
a  neck,  as  he  himself  was  apt  to  boast,  quite  too  short  for  a 
rope.      Yet,    the    monster   wore    a   signet-ring  — whence   got, 
Heaven  knows,  garnished  with  skull  and  cross-bones  for  crest. 
It  became  his  deeds.     He  was  one  of  those  scoundrel-pirates  of 
the  land  — like  the  pirates  of  the  sea,  in  a  previous  century  — 
who  exulted  only  in  the  terrors  they  inspired.     He  was  a  noto 
rious  outlaw,  one  of  the  few  surviving  Scophilites— a  banditti 
which,  at  the  opening  of  the  revolutionary  discontents  in  Caro 
iiiia,  had  carried  crime  and  terror  to  many  a  happy  homestead 


THE   HELL-FIRE   DICKS.  56 

It  would  be  useless  to  inquire  after  the  birthplace  of  such  a 
monster.  The  earth  always  breeds  such  in  seasons  of  civil 
war.  The  first  we  hear  of  Joel  Andrews  —  afterward  "Hell- 
fire  Dick"  —  was  in  Florida.  He  passed  thence  through 
Georgia  to  Carolina — was  driven  out  as  an  outlaw  —  sought 
refuge  again  in  Florida,  and  returned  to  Carolina,  as  a  loving 
loyalist,  as  soon  as  the  British  arms  had  acquired  the  ascen 
dency  in- that  province. 

Sam.  Brydone,  alias  "  Skin-the-Serpent,"  "  Eafe  Brunson," 
or  "The Trailer,"  and  "Joe  Best,"  were  the  three  companions 
of  "  Hell-fire  Dick."  They  were  creatures  of  the  same  kidney, 
though  of  humbler  rank  as  rascals.  They  never  refused  to  fol 
low  where  Dick  led ;  but  they  were  not  the  persons  to  lead 
while  he  was  to  be  found.  Still,  it  would  be  doing  great  wrong 
to  their  abilities  to  say,  that,  were  he  lost  to  the  fraternity,  each 
of  them  would  not  be  possessed  of  the  necessary  faculty  to  carry 
on  the  enterprising  business  in  which  they  commonly  engaged 
—  not  to  fight  exactly,  but  to  gather  spoils  from  those  who  did, 
was  their  vocation.  They  were  the  vultures  in  the  track  of 
armies  —  the  jackals  in  the  wake  of  the  lion  !  They  were 
quite  free  to  fight,  nevertheless;  but  never  for  mere  fun. 
Theirs  was  a  tolerably  cool  calculation  of  what  was  to  come  of 
it,  before  they  crossed  steel,  or  lifted  rifle.  Now,  we  may  say, 
their  purpose,  in  the  visit  to  Pete  Blodgit,  was  a  mere  carouse ; 
to  drink,  game,  swear,  sing,  howl,  or  shout  away  the  hours  — 
nothing  more.  They  were,  just  at  this  moment,  in  their  most 
amiable  phase.  In  seeking  Pete  BJodgit's  wigwam,  they  antici 
pated  nothing  more  than  a  night  of  debauchery;  the  worthy 
Pete,  who,  on  several  scores,  enjoyed  a  sort  of  virtuous  immuni 
ty  with  both  parties,  using  his  reputation  as  an  innocent  man,  in 
driving  various  pretty  little  practices,  for  debauching  the  troops 
of  both  armies.,  and  plucking  what  pigeons,  of  either  side,  he 
could  safely  manage.  lie  contrived  to  get  supplies  of  rum  and 
sugar  —  lemons  occasionally  —  from  Charleston,  by  the  heads 
of  Cooper  river;  and  had  certain  comely  associates,  in  the  garri 
son,  who  wore,  without  openly  discrediting,  the  British  epau« 
lette. 

Sinclair  surveyed  this  group  of  scoundrels,  at  his  ease,  through 
the  crevices  of  the  :abin.  He  had  some  previous  knowledge  of 


56  THE    FORAYERS. 

all  of  them.  They  had  become  notorious  enough,  along  the  San- 
tee  and  Edisto,  for  the  worst  crimes  in  the  calendar ;  and  had 
been  outlawed,  under  various  names,  by  both  Marion  and  Sum- 
ter.  These  partisans  had  posted  them  along  the  wayside,  upon 
blazes  of  the  trees,  authorizing  all  good  citizens  to  arrest,  and 
bring  them  to  camp  as  felons,  and  to  put  them  to  death  if  they 
resisted.  While  the  armies  lay  below,  and  were  in  force  along 
the  regions  named,  these  obscene  birds  kept  close  in  sundry 
hiding-places.  The  swamp  gave  them  a  refuge  quite  as  secure 
as  it  afforded  to  the  patriots.  The  diversion,  to  the  upper 
country,  of  the  forces  of  the  patriots  and  British, had  given  the 
outlaws  temporary  freedom.  They  were  now  making  fvll  use 
of  their  brief  immunity,  and  had  already  shown  them 
selves  in  various  places,  which  were  by  no  means  prepared  for 
them,  enacting  crime,  and  inspiring  terror,  where  they  can:e. 
The  traveller  butchered  by  day,  the  farmhouse  fired  by  night . 
—  these  deeds  suddenly  shocked  and  terrified  the  quiet  pre 
cincts,  which,  in  the  diversion  of  the  war  from  the  lower  to  the 
upper  country,  had  forgotten  some  of  their  precautions 

The  sterner  passions  of  Willie  Sinclair  grew  fearfully  aroused 
as  he  looked  in  upon  the  savage  group. 

"  Would  to  God  I  had  but  half  a  dozen  of  my  troopers  here 
at  this  moment!"  was  his  soliloquy,  muttered  through  his 
clenched  teeth.  "  How  freely  would  I  deliver  every  mother's 
son  of  them  to  the  swinging  limb  !  It  is  well  that  I  moved  so 
promptly.  In  that  stable-loft,  they  would  have  fired  it  over  my 
head  rather  than  suffer  my  escape.  I  could  have  slain  one  or 
more  of  them  no  doubt.  But  I  must  have  perished  —  burned 
alive  or  butchered — as  I  sallied  forth.  Thank  God,  we  have 
the  open  woods  for  it  if  there  is  to  be  any  trouble ;  and  I  have 
the  track  of  them !  But  something  may  be  done  to  increase 
my  securities." 

Thus  saying,  the  major  of  dragoons,  as  if  confirmed  in  a  pre 
viously-meditated  purpose,  moved  confidently  round  to  the 
front  of  the  cottage,  and  made  his  way  to  the  tree,  to  the 
branches  of  which  Pete  Blodgit  had  fastened  the  horses  of  the 
outlaws.  Here  he  drew  from  his  belt  a  large  and  sharp  knife, 
with  which  he  smote  off  one  of  the  stirrups  from  each  saddle 
He  then  slipped  the  bridle  of  each  steed,  and  set  the  animato 


THE    HELL-FIRE    DICKS.  57 

tree,  taking  the  bridles  off  with  him  to  a  thick  patch  of  brush 
and  briers,  into  which  he  thrust  them  all,  completely  out  o^ 
sight. 

"  They'll  have  work  to  pick  up  the  horses,  and  something 
more  to  follow  with  fleet  spur.  That  they  will  try  to  pursue,  I 
nothing  question.  This  rascal,  Blodgit,  will  reveal  all.  lie 
will  desire  their  help,  and,  to  procure  it,  will  report  the  gold  in 
my  possession.  The  temptation  will  be  too  great  for  them  to 
resist.  They  are  now  sufficiently  audacious,  and  have  no  no 
tion  that  we  have  any  troop  below.  Still  less  do  they  dream 
of  my  own  squadron  upon  the  Santee,  and  of  the  troop  of 
Peyre  St.  Julien,  at  Leasuck.  Were  my  own  boys  but  five 
miles  nearer;  but  they  Avill  surely  be  at  the  Barony  by  noon 
to-morrow.  Let  them  pursue,  the  scoundrels! — they  can't 
well  get  ahead  of  me,  unless  the  devil  helps  them ;  and  I  can 
maintain  the  Barony  against  so  small  a  party  until  help  shall 
arrive." 

From  brief  muttered  soliloquies  like  these,  we  may  gather 
the  essential  clues  to  the  relations  of  the  several  parties.  Sin 
clair  moved  away  as  he  spoke,  gave  one  more  look  at  the  out 
laws  at  their  carousals,  then  sped  off,  with  steps  at  once  firm 
and  cautious,  to  the  spot  where  he  had  fastened  his  horse. 
Mounting,  he  turned  the  beast  out  of  the  woods  into  the  main 
road,  leading  upward,  and  went  forward  at  a  moderate  trot,  as 
if  unapprehensive  of  the  dogs  of  danger  at  his  heels. 

He  had  calculated  the  chances  fairly.  He  was  not  a  moment 
*  '0  soon  upon  the  .-oad. 


3* 


53  THE    FORAYER3. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

ALL-FOURS. 


"  THE  picters,  Pete,"  said  Hell-fire  Dick,  as  he  emptied  his 
cup  of  Jamaica,  and  handed  the  vessel  to  one  of  his  compan 
ions  for  a  fresh  supply.  "Bring  out  the  picters." 

"What ah!"  was  the  hesitating  answer  of  Blodgit,  show 
ing  no  disposition  to  obey,  yet  not  prepared  to  adopt  the  plan 
of  bold  denial  which  his  mother  had  counselled. 

"  Well,  what  the are  you  gaping  about !     The  cards,  1 

say!" 

"And  I  say  no  playing  cards  here  to-night!"  cried  the  old 
woman,  from  within.  "  Git  you  off  now,  all  of  you,  and  don't 
be  keeping  a  poor  sick  woman  a  suffering  the  want  of  sleep ^be- 
kaise  of  sich  company  as  you.  I'd  thank  you  all  to  be  a  riding, 
and  not  be  making  a  sick  woman  sicker  by  your  noise." 

"What's  that  howling  in  there,  Pete?"  said  Hell-fire  Dick, 
turning  savagely  upon  the  overseer.     "  Is  it  any  wild  animal  ?" 
"It's  only  the  old  woman.     She's  mighty  sick,  I  tell  you,  and 
'sore  with  the  rheumatiz,  and  all  sorts  of  sufferings." 

"That's  good  reason  why  she  shouldn't  be  sore  upon  the 
tongue.  Shut  up,  old  woman,  unless  you'd  wear  a  snaffle  for 
the  rest  of  your  life,  and  not  wear  it  too  long  at  that,  I've  got 
a  mighty  good  way  of  curing  a  sore  tongue.  We  tried  it  first 
on  that  old  hag,  mother  Gelzer.  We  routed  up  her  rogue  of  a 
husband,  one  night,  and  haltered  him  to  the  bedpost  while  we 
looked  into  his  consarns.  The  old  hag,  his  wife,  kept  up  the 
fire  so  hot,  that  '  Skin-the-Sarpent'  gin  her  a  tap  that  sent 
her  into  the  fireplace.  But  she  scrambled  out,  half  blazing  and 
full  of  ashes,  and  never  seemed  to  mind  the  burn  at  all ;  her 
tongue  going  worse  than  ever.  '  Sarpent'  wanted  to  cut  her 
tongue  out ;  but  I  showed  him  how  the  thing  was  to  be  done. 


ALL-FOURS.  59 

I  slipped  a  snaffle  into  her  jaws  —  firmly  bitted  her — and  by  a 
hitch  back  of  the  ears,  made  of  deers'  sinews,  made  as  good  a 
4af>£asever  took  the  heel  of  a  troublesome  colt!  She  a-most 
gnawed  through  tongue  and  snaffle  both,  but  it  stood :  and  it's 
surprising  how  quiet  she  was  after  that.  Let  your  mammy 
hear  -that  history,  Pete,  and  she'll  may  be  grow  more  sensible 
than  to  put  in,  when  men's  upon  business  with  one  another." 

It  did  not  need  that  Pete  should  repeat  the  history.  His 
amiable  mother  had  heard  every  syllable.  But  the  fate  of 
mother  Gelzer  did  not  discourage  her  tongue  in  its  habitual 
exercise ;  particularly  when  she  thought  of  the  night  rapidly 
escaping,  and  the  chances  of  Willie  Sinclair's  getting  off  safely 
with  the  hundred  guineas. 

"  I  ain't  afeared  of  your  hitch,  you  onmannered  rascal ;  only 
you  try  it  on  me,  and  ef  you  never  had  the  taste  of  a  raw  knife 
in  your  witals  before,  you'll  have  it  then.  Ef  Pete  Blodgit 
wasn't  the  most  mean-sperrited  fellow  in  the  world,  he'd  never 
stand  thar,  and  let  any  beast  on  two  legs  say  imperdent  things 
to  his  poor  old  mother  what's  got  the  rheumatiz.  Oh  !  ef  I 
was  only  able  to  lift  a  leg,  you  wouldn't  be  heving  sich  carry 
ings  on  in  any  house  whar  I  was  the  mistress.  Here,  Pete  — 
Pete  Blodgit,  I  say  —  come  in  here  to  me !" 

"  And  I  say,  Pete  Blodgit,"  answered  Hell-fire  Dick,  "  do 
you  stay  here  with  me ;  and  I  say,  get  out  the  picters  here,  in 
double  quick  time,  if  you  wouldn't  have  sich  a  spur  in  your  re- 
dicilous  ribs  as  will  make  you  think  a  thousand  wild  cats  was 
a  travelling  through  you." 

"Feeling's  believing,  Pete,"  cried  Skin-the-Serpent,  taking 
the  overseer  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  spinning  him  round 
the  floor  like  a  tee-to-tum.  "Thar  !"  continued  the  fellow,  "do 
you  onderstand  now  that  we  want  the  picters?" 

"And  will  heo*  'em!"  echoed  Ralph  Brunson,  following  up 
the  game,  and  spinning  the  fellow  round  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion.  Then,  grappled  in  like  manner  by  Joe  Best,  Pete  execu 
ted  such  revolutions  as  a  drunken  man  sees  going  on  in  the 
heavens  as  he  goes  home  on  a  starry  night. 

"I'll  git  'em!  I'll  git  the  kairds  — only  gi'  me  a  chaince ! 
Lord  ha'  marcy,  men,  you're  all  so  rambunctious!' 

The  poor  devil  could  no  more  have  seconded  the  manhood 


60  THE    FORAYERS. 

of  his  mother,  than  he  could  undertake  the  journey  on  Alborak 
to  Mahomet's  Paradise. 

"  Quick  about  it,  then,  pretty  Pete  ;  we  wants  to  be  doing/' 
The    cards    soon   made   their    appearance :   a  well-thumbed 
pack,  greasy  and  ragged  by  repeated  use,  and  with  his  majes 
ty's  face,  well  smutted,  upon  them. 

"  The  Jack  of  Spades  is  a  gentleman,"  cried  Hell-fire  Dick, 
seizing  them  across  the  table  —  and  yelling  out  the  chorus  of  a 
gaming  party  well  known  in  that  day  —  in  which  Joe  Best,  who 
prided  himself  on  a  voice,  took  up  the  strain,  and  fairly  outdid 
the  chief  ruffian  of  the  group. 

"  'The  Jack  of  Spades  is  a  gentleman, 
And  he  loves  to  drink  and  play, 
And  he  flings  the  dice  with    look   that  says, 
What  ho!  let  the  devil  pay!'" 

The  song,  bravely  begun  by  the  master-spirit  of  the  gang, 
was  silenced  by  the  same  imperious  person  when  he  found 
that  he  was  not  suffered  to  officiate  as  prime  minister.  Hell- 
fire  Dick  —  whom  we  shall  hereafter  call  by  the  less  offensive 
phrase  into  which  his  nom  de  guerre  was  subdued  by  certain  of 
his  companions  —  "^1/Z-fire  Dick"  —  with  a  roar  and  stamp  of 
the  foot,  now  cried  out :  — 

"Blast  it,  Joe  Best,  you  think  yourself  a  raal  mocking-bird; 
and  hev'  such  a  conceit  of  your  pipes  that  you  don't  know 
when  to  stop  when  you  begin.  Git  out  your  pewter,  old  fellow, 
and  let  your  pipes  alone.  Change  is  mighty  scarce,  boys.  I'm 
a-wanting  some.  Blodgit,  what  money  hev'  you  got  V 

Blodgit  groaned,  remembering  the  treasure  only  so  recent 
ly  transferred  to  Willie  Sinclair's  safe  keeping  —  groaned  pit- 
eously. 

"  What's  that  grunt  about !  But,  go  'long,  Spoony,  and  put 
up  the  critters,  and  give  'em  a  bite ;  and  be  back  as  soon  as 
you  kin.  We'll  want  you  to  bring  out  your  money  pouch, 
pretty  Pete." 

It  was  the  old  woman,  this  time,  who  groaned  within.     She, 

too,  had  heard  *h.,  speech  of  the  ruffian,  and  her  memories  were 

equally  distresd'u:  on  the  subject  of  the  lost  treasure  —  lost,  but 

still  supposei  to  p«  in  the  stable,  and  available  upon  conditions. 

What!    the  old  woman  still  has  a  tongue!      Well!    she 


ALL-FOURS.  61 

may  grunt  with  it  as  much  as  she  pleases,  and  we'll  'scuse  it  on 
the  score  of  the  rheumatiz.  But,  don't  let  her  be  talking,  Pete, 
for  as  sure  as  thunder,  if  she  worries  our  ears,  we'll  try  the 
snaffle  upon  her  !" 

"  The  onrighteous  villains  !"  muttered  the  old  woman,  as  she 
heard  the  warning,  uttered  specially  for  her  ears.  "  And  they'd 
do  it,  too,  they  would !  I  knows  'em ;  and  that  poor  mean- 
sperrited  son  of  mine,  would  stand  by  and  see  them  hitch  his 
own  mother  up  by  the  tongue,  and  never  be  the  man  to  out- 
knife,  and  stick,  right  and  left,  to  save  me  from  it !  Oh  !  ef  1 
was  a  man !" 

Here  again  she  called  to  Pete,  but  in  whining  tones  of  en 
treaty,  as  of  one  suffering. 

"Pete,  Pete  Blodgit — come  in  here." 

"  Can't,  old  lady,"  answered  All-fire  Dick ;  "  He's  got  to 
see  after  the  horses.  Then  he's  got  to  bring  out  his  shillings 
and  continentals  and  1'arn  ho\v  to  be  a  gentleman  by  losing  his 
money." 

"  He's  got  no  money,  I  tell  you  !"  cried  the  old  woman,  for 
getting  her  subdued  accents. 

"  No  !  as  I'm  a  living  sinner,  I  haint  got  no  money." 

And  the  pair  groaned  in  sympathy  together. 

"  Psho,  boy  !  don't  be  lying  !  Don't  we  know  yon've  been 
selling  a  smart  chaince  of  corn  and  fodder,  and  got  the  shiners 
for  it.  We've  got  sharp  eyes  upon  you,  Pete,  and  must  go 
snacks,  boy.  But  we'll  play  fair.  Winning  aint  'thieving, 
'cording  to  our  laws  and  edication  —  and  you  shall  have  as  good 
a  chaince  at  our  pouches  as  we  have  at  your'n !  Suppose 
your'n  is  the  fullest?  What  of  that]  a  purse  is  a  purse, 
boys  —  " 

"  Ay,  ay  !     That's  good  law  !" 

"  And  thar's  as  much  satisfaction  to  a  man  that  love's  to  do 
a  thing  handsome,  in  winning  a  penny  as  in  winning  a  pound. 
'Taint  the  amount  that  you  win,  Pete,  that  give's  the  satisfac 
tion  ;  it's  the  pleasure  of  beating  one's  innimy ;  it's  the  fun 
to  beat  the  beater  —  to  be  the  best  man  on  the  ground,  and  to 
be  able  to  slap  your  sides  and  crow  like  a  red-gill'd  rooster  — 
•  Coo-coo-roo-coo  !  Coo-coo-roo-coo-a  /'  while  all  the  rest  of  the 
i-j-owd  stands  by,  and  don't  know  whether  to  cry  or  to  laugh  I 


fi2  THE   FORAYERS. 

That's  it,  Pete;  so  don't  be  a  sneak  —  and  don't  mind  the  dif 
ference  twixt  your  pouch  and  mine,  which  is  the  heaviest.  It's 
ytwr'n  now —  it's  mine  to-morrow!  What  then?  we've  had 
the  play,  old  boy ;  and  we've  done  our  best,  and  the  glory's 
thar,  Pete,  though  the  guineas  may  be  gone !  Thanks  to  the 
stars  and  moon,  Pete,  we  know  you've  got  the  gould,  and  that's 
why  you  see  us  here  to-night !  You  don't  think  we'd  ha'  come, 
and  troubled  your  'spectable  mammy,  in  these  late  hours,  ef 
we  didn't  know  that  you'd  got  so  much  good  goulden  guineas, 
as  wouldn't  suffer  you  to  have  your  nateral  sleeps.  But,  fill 
your  glass,  Pete ;  hyar's  to  you ;  and  big  stakes  about  the 
board  ;  and  the  jack  of  spades  for  ever  !" 

Pete  groaned  again,  and  the  mother  groaned  also  from  with 
in.  They  felt  that  their  game  was  twixt  hawk  and  buzzard. 
If  the  gold  was  to  be  wormed  out  of  Sinclair's  pockets,  through 
his  heart,  what  should  save  it  from  such  ruffians  as  these  who 
now  declared  their  knowledge  of  the  overseer's  possessions. 
On  all  sides  the  ruin  seemed  inevitable,  and  the  ready  instincts 
of  mother  and  son  conceived  their  predicament  at  a  glance.  In 
very  despair,  Pete  obeyed  the  invitation  of  All-fire  Dick,  seized 
upon  a  cup  and  swallowed  a  heavy  potation  of  the  unadulter 
ated  Jamaica  at  a  gulp. 

"  That's  going  it  strong,  Pete,"  quoth  Skin-the-Serpent,  "  and 
shows  that  you're  gitting  your  courage  up  for  a  great  game." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  All-fire  Dick.  "  And  so,  Pete, 
pat  up  the  horses  and  come  up  to  the  scratch." 

Here  Joe  Best  struck  up  a  stave :  — 

"  The  horse  to  the  rack, 

And  the  mouth  to  the  oan, 
A  laughing  lass,  and  a  foaming  glass, 
And  merry's  the  life  of  man." 

"  Psho  !  Shut  up,  Joe  Best,  you  are  too  d — d  musical  fo 
one's  hearing." 

All-fire  Dick  was  something  of  a  despot.  He  kept  his  fol 
lowers  in  pretty  tight  bonds,  only  tolerated  as  they  found  hii 
a  profitable  desperado. 

"  Away,  Pete,  with  the  horses,  and  the  sooner  you're  bacl 
the  sooner  we  come  to  our  rights.  Be  off. — Drive  on,  Sarpenl 
spade's  trump  !  my  suit,  and  I'l  v>rk  you  this  time!" 


ALL-FOURS.  63 

Pete  disappeared.     The  game  proceeded.     The  old.  woman 
groaned  aloud  as  she  heard  the  door  close  behind  her  son,  and 
the  ruffians  yelled  back  to  her  in  derision.     But  many  minutes 
had  not  elapsed,  when  Pete  was  heard  again  at  the  door. 
"  Whar  did  we  hitch  the  critters  ?"  he  asked. 
"Where  did   you    hitch   them,   Sneak?"    was  the   answer, 
"  What  the  d — 1  do  you  mean  1     Can't  you  find  them  1" 

"  Well,  I  thought  'twas  to  the  water  oak ;    but  they're  not 
thar  now." 

"You're  drunk,  Pete — look  about  you!     You've  barked  up 
the  wrong  tree.     Take  the  lantern." 

"  N  > !  don't  need  !     The  stairs  are  a-shining." 
Well,  look  about  you.     It's  the  Jamaica  that  blinds  your 
eyes.     Take  another  pull  and  see  cl'ar.  —  What  trumps,  Sar- 
pent  ?     You're  strong  in  spades,  this  time." 
"  Reckon  1  am  !     What  do  you  say  to  that !" 
"Brimstone!     Cotch'd  my  jack,  by  the  pipers.     But  we'll 
count  for  game ;  thar's  low" 

Pete,  meanwhile,  had  again  disappeared;   but  not  for  'long, 
fte  soon  returned ;   this  time,  after  making  a  discovery  which 
^as  by  no  means  calculated  to  dissipate  his  own  disquiet,  while 
t  fully  awakened  that  of  his  uninvited  guests. 
"  The  critters  are  all  off — and  look  thar  !" 
As  he  spoke,  he  threw  upon  the  table  the  four  stirrups,  each 
viih  a  fragment  of  the  leather,  which  Willie  Sinclair  had  cut 
Tom  the  several  saddles. 

"  What  the  b— 's  that !"  cried  All-fire  Dick,  starting  up,  in 
Jiixed  rage  and  consternation. 

I  reckon  it's  the  starrups  of  every  saddle  of  the  crowd." 
There  was  general  consternation,  and  a  horrid  confusion  of 
tongues,  as  each  man  singled  out  his  own. 
"  And  whar  did  you  find  these  ?" 
"  Under  the  oak  where  I  hitched  the  critters." 
"  And  the  horses  ?" 
"  Gone  !     They're  off  somewhar  !" 

"  Brimstone  and  fire  !     Who  the  h—1  have  you  had  fcere  to-  ' 
light,  Pete  Blodgit  ?  who's  about  ?»     They  rushed  out  en  mow 
is  the  inquiry  was  made. 
"Nobody  but  Willie  Sinclair!" 


64  THE   PORATERS. 

Blodgit  made  the  response  reluctantly ;  but  his  invention 
offered  him  no  means  of  evasion,  and  a  prompt  answer  was  es 
sential  to  his  own  safety.  Had  a  bolt  from  heaven  fallen  that 
moment  at  their  feet,  it  could  not  have  confounded  them  more. 

"Willie  Sinclair!"  was  the  unanimous  exclamation,  and 
each  man  griped  his  pistol. 

"  Willie  Sinclair  here  !"  cried  'All-fire  Dick,  seizing  the  over 
seer  by  the  throat,  and  drawing  back  intuitively  into  the  shad 
ow  of  the  house  and  out  of  the  light  of  the  doorway  through 
which  the  candles  cast  a  feeble  gleam. 

"  Hark  ye,  you  dirty  skunk,  ef  you're  playing  me  false,  I'll 
slit  your  throat  from  ear  to  ear,  in  the  twink  of  an  eye !" 

"  I  aint  playing  you  false  —  it's  true  !" 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  Willie  Sinclair  was  here  ?  When 
was  he  here?  Where  was  he  hiding?  Speak  you  eternal 
flea-skip  before  I — " 

*'  Oh  !  jest  loose  my  throat !"  was  the  gurgling  and  choking 
speech  —  "  and  I'll  tell  you  all !  I  will !" 

"  The  truth,  you  rascally  sneak,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  So  help  me  God." 

"  Well !  out  with  it." 

The  fellow  told  them  all,  not  even  suppressing  the  facts  about 
the  buried  treasure.  The  groans  of  his  soul,  once  permitted, 
emptied  their  prison-house ! 

"  Grimini !  most  on  to  a  hundred  guineas !  and  we've  been 
a-fooling  away  the  time,  when  we  might  have  been  filling  our 
pockets  !  And  he's  in  the  stable  ?" 

"  Yes !  I  lock'd  him  up  safe.     Thar's  the  key." 

"  Dick !  boys  !     Let's  at  him  right  away." 

"Psho  !  Sarpent,"  replied  the  leader  of  the  outlaws — "You're 
almost  as  great  a  fool  as  Blodgit.  Do  you  expect  to  find  Will 
Sinclair  in  the  stable-loft  now  ?  Do  you  reckon  he'd  go  back 
there,  after  cutting  off  our  stirrups  and  turning  loose  the  horses  ? 
He's  too  keen  for  that.  He'd  be  as  great  a  fool  as  you  ef  he 
did." 

"  But  how  did  he  git  out  ?"  asked  "  Serpent"  simply  enough ; 
"  when  here  Blodgit's  got  the  key  of  the  stable." 

"  Well,  in  a  hundred  ways.  He  shot  back  the  bolt  from  the 
•nside,  or  Blodgit  forgot  to  lock." 


ALL-POURS.  65 

41  No,  I  didn't  forgit ;  and  the  bolt's  a  covered  one ;  lie  couldn't 
git  at  it  with  knife  or  finger." 

"He  has  certainly  got  out,  and  done  this  mischief,  or  there's 
some  other  inimy  about  us !  Are  you  sure,  Blodgit,  that  he 
came  alone." 

"  I  never  seed  but  him.     Thar's  no  telling !" 

"  Ten  to  one  he  had  nigger  'Bram  at  his  heels,  and  kept  him 
back  as  a  spy  on  Blodgit.  It  may  be  'Bram  let  the  horses 
loose. ' 

"Thei:,  it  may  be  that  Sinclair's  still  in  the  stable." 
"  We'll  soon  see  to  that !  Look  you,  Joe  Best,  take  Ralph 
Brunson  with  you,  and  look  up  the  horses.  I  and  Sarpent 
will  see  after  Sinclair.  If  lie's  in  the  stable  yit,  I'll  take  th3 
change  out  of  him,  though  I  have  to  put  the  lightwood  splinters 
to  the  nest.  Sec  to  the  horses,  Joe.  The  only  wonder  is  he 
didn't  cut  their  throats  instead  of  the  stirrups.  I  know  that 
would  ha'  been  my  game.  Come  on,  Sarpent.  That  key, 
Pete!" 

"Mustn't  I  come?". 

"  For  what  ?  What  kin  you  do  ?  Stay  here,  lad,  and,  like 
*  good  son,  tend  to  your  'spectable  mammy.  She  may  want 
you.  Keep  close.  Keep  your  eyes  right  till  we  come  back; 
for,  as  sure  as  we  catch  you  sneaking  about  us,  Pete,  we'll  slit 
your  gullet !  Do  you  hear  ?  I'm  jubous  of  you,  boy  !  as  for 
Sinclair  and  the  guineas,  if  they're  not  gone,  look  to  me  to  ac 
count  for  them.  You  shall  have  a  chaince,  Pete," 

Pete  retired  groaning  to  the  cabin,  where  his  mother  pro 
vided  a  commentary  of  sufficient  length  and  bitterness  upon  his 
"  mean  sperrit."  The  guineas  were  evidently  gone,  as  regard- 
ed  their  hopes ;  and  they  now  rejoiced  in  the  belief  that  Sin 
clair  had  gone  off  with  them. 

"The  Lord  in  his  marcies  grant  that  Willie  Sinclair's  off" 
groaned  the  old  woman.  "It's  his  gould  and  his  sister's,  and 
he's  got  the  right  to  it !" 

It  is  surprising  how  instinctively  the  feeling  of  honesty  rise* 

into  the  heart,  when  there  is  no  longer  a  possibility  of  playing 

the  rogue  profitably.     Mrs.  Blodgit's  religious  feelings  grew  it, 

the  ascendant  when  the  spoils  of  robbery  were  no  longer  within 

each.     She  now,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  perceive  the 


66  THE    FORAYERS. 

full  extent  >f  the  evils  following  the  blind  cupidity  of  herself 
and  son. 

"  But  it's  not  the  loss  of  the  gould,  Pete.  That's  not  all. 
But  Willie  Sinclair  now  knows  all.  He'll  never  trust  you 
?  gin.  He'll  turn  us  out.  He'll  take  away  the  keys,  the  corn, 
the  fodder,  the  hogs,  and  he'll  let  Marion's  men  know  that 
you're  no  Letter  than  a  tory  !  Pete  Blodgit,  what  a  fool  you 
was  to  try  to  cheat  the  man  that's  been  the  making  of  you ! 
Oh !  you're  about  the  foolishest,  most  meansperrited  crittov, 
to  be  a  white  man, that  ever  lived  'twixt  the  Santee  and  the 
Edisto." 

"  Oh  !  mammy,  you  oughtn't  to  say  that !  You  know  you 
told  me  to,  and  made  me  give  you  the  bag  of  Spanish  dollars.'' 

"And  it's  well  I  did!  where'd  they  be  now,  if  I  hedn'U 
And  ef  you  had  trusted  your  poor  old  mother  with  the  gould, 
as  well  as  the  silver,  we'd  ha'  had  it  now,  you  meansperrited — " 

"  Hush  !     They're  a-coming  back  !" 

Pete  hastened  out  of  the  chamber  to  open  for  the  party.  The 
horses  had  been  found.  They  had  employed  themselves  quietly 
in  picking  the  long  grasses  about  the  ruined  building,  and  were 
easily  caught.  But  each  was  bridleless,  and  Joe  Best  and 
Brunson  busied  themselves  in  looking  up  Pete's  stores  of  rope 
and  leath'er,  with  the  hope  to  provide  substitutes  for  present 
use.  They  rightly  anticipated  the  purpose  of  All-fire  Dick 
and  Skin-tli3-S:rpent,  to  pursue  a  fugitive  wito  carried  a  hun 
dred  guireas  a4  his  girdle. 


PURSUIT    ANI»    PASTURAGE.  67 


CHAPTER   VII. 

PURSUIT   AND    PASTURAGE. 

WE,  who  already  know  that  the  outlaws  must  be  disappointed 
in  their  search  after  Sinclair  in  the  stable,  must  not  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  All-fire  Dick  and  the  Serpent  made  their  ap 
proaches  to  that  supposed  fortress  with  the  caution  of  old  sol 
diers.  They  knew  their  man ;  and  quite  as  well  knew  how 
formidable  would  be  his  defence,  if  wakeful,  in  such  a  position, 
armed,  as  he  was  known  to  be,  with  sword  and  pistols.  Blodgit 
had  also  apprized  them  of  the  three  muskets,  and  the  powder  and 
ball.  He  had  relieved  his  own  griefs,  by  telling  his  whole  story. 
Their  hope  lay  chiefly  in  taking  Sinclair  by  surprise,  if  still  in 
the  stable  ;  though  the  sagacity  of  the  outlaws  readily  conceived 
the  improbability  of  such  a  case ;  unless,  indeed,  the  practice 
upon  their  steeds  had  been  done  by  other  hands  than  those  of 
Sinclair.  This  was  not  improbable,  and  there  was  still  a  possi- 
bilky  of  finding  him  asleep,  and  unsuspicious,  in  his  nest. 

They^  stole  upon  it,  therefore,  with  the  wariness  of  the  wild 
cat  finding  his  way  into  the  poultry-yard.  Blodgit's  key  was 
well  oiled,  and  they  penetrated  the  stable  without  making  the 
slightest  noise.  We  need  not  report  their  progress  — how  they 
"  snaked"  through  the  stable,  and  "  snaked"  through  the  loft, 
and  "w<mt  on  their  bellies,"  for  their  pains!  Enough  that, 
after  having  exercised  the  nicest  vigilance  in  searching  the 
premises,  they  found  the  nest  empty  —  the  bird  flown  ! 

"  We  might  have  known  it,"  quoth  All-fire  Dick,  "  knowing 
the  man,  and  seeing  that  his  horse  is  gone." 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?"  asked  the  Serpent. 

"Done!"  was  the  fierce  response,  "why,  give  chase  as  fast 
as  may  be  !  Are  we  to  lose  a  hundred  guineas  without  a  ride 
for  it  ?  He's  gone,  no  doubt,  up  the  road  to  the  Barony  —  to  his 
father's.  There's  no  other  route  for  him  to  take  to-night.  If 


68  THE   FORAYER8. 

his  horse  was  fresh  he  might  push  on  farther  — knowing  we're 
here,  and  thinking  we  might  be  after  him  soon.  It's  cl'ar  he 
had  some  such  notion  of  it,  by  his  cutting  the  stirrup-leathers. 
He's  heavy  loaded  —  powder,  bullets,  muskets,  and  gould  ! 
He'll  ride  slow.  We  must  overhaul  him  in  nine  miles." 
"  That  is,  if  we  find  the  horses." 

« Ay  !  d — n  him  !  Look  you,  Sarpent,  I've  a  most  etarnal 
hate  for  that  same  Willie  Sinclair.  I  hate  him  bekaise  he's  a 
gentleman;  and  he  makes  you  feel  it.  I  know'd  him,  and 
sarved  under  him  once,  and  the  very  look  of  him  made  my 
blood  bile  in  my  veins.  I've  got  his  tracks.  I've  found  out 
one  of  his  hiding-places  in  Four-Hole  Swamp.  I  tracked  that 
big-backed  fellow,  Jim  Ballou,  thar,  and  know  the  signs.  I 
shall  track  him  thar  some  of  these  days,  and  'twon't  be  his 
money  that  shall  save  him,  I  tell  you,  or  his  fine  gentleman 
airs,  whenever  I  can  get  a  fair  dig  at  his  ribs.  But  that's  for 
another  time.  Let's  hurry  off  now,  and  start  the  boys." 

The  horses,  we  have  mentioned,  were  found  by  the  other 
two,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  their  leader.  It  was  no  pleas- 
.  ant  arrangement,  however,  that  which  found  them  compelled  to 
pursue  without  stirrups,  and  with  plough-line  bridles:  —  nay, 
hardly  these — for  one  of  the  fellows  rode  wholly  without  bridle 
of  any  sort.  But  the  evil  lay  mostly  in  the  embarrassment. 
There  was  not  one  of  the  outlaws  who  was  not  quite  as  familiar 
to  the  horse  as  an  Arab  —  who  ?ould  not  have  ridden  him  fear 
lessly,  glued,  as  it  were,  to  his  3ack  —  without  harness  of  any 
kind.  It  was  but  to  clap  the  k.iees  close  to  his  quarters,  wreath 
a  hand  in  a  wisp  of  the  mane,  ,hrow*the  body  forward,  and  yell 
out  like  a  wildcat  on  a  charivari,  and  the  pace,  if  a  killing  one, 
was  so  rather  to  horse  than  rider.  Our  outlaws,  accordingly, 
though  furious  at  the  trick  played  on  them,  and  the  injury  done 
to  their  equipments,  were  yet  not  wholly  hors  du  combat.  Sin 
clair's  operations  had  only  retarded,  not  prevented,  the  pursuit. 
But  the  delay  was  something  gained  to  him,  in  the  jaded  condi 
tion  of  his  steed,  the  burden  which  he  had  to  carry,  and  the 
wearied  state  of  the  rider. 

The  outlaws  allowed  no  unnecessary  time  for  consultation. 
They  were  all  men  of  prompt  action,  and  their  arrangements 
were  soon  made.  When  about  to  start,  Pete  Blodgit  was 


PURSUIT    AND    PASTURAGE.  69 

suddenly  seen  to  appear  on  horseback  among  them.  His 
resolution  had  been  taken  at  the  suggestion  of  his  amiable 
mother,  who,  in  the  event  of  Sinclair  being  taken,  was  duly 
anxious  that  her  son  should  be  present  at  the  division  of  the 
spoils.  Not  that  she  deluded  herself  with  the  idea  that  he  could 
coerce  the  outlaws  into  any  consideration  of  his  claims.  But 
something  she  thought  might  be  done  by  whining  —  well  know 
ing  that,  though  we  may  brain  the  insolent  mastiff,  or  the 
barking  cur,  AVC  cast  a  bone  to  the  lean  hound  who  only  looks 
up  with  pitifully  pleading  visage.  This  was  now  the  lean' hops 
of  the  innocent  couple  ! 

But  All-fire  Dick  was  not  prepared  to  accord  this  one  chance 
to  the  miserable  Pete. 

"  You  here  !  Git  back  to  your  hole.  Slink,  if  you  wouldn't 
taste  cowhide,  fasting." 

"I  thought  you'd  let  me  ride  with  you,  Cappin  Dick,"  hum 
bly  answered  the  sneak. 

"None  of  your  Cappin  Dicks  with  me.  I'm  no  cappin 
I'm  'Hell-fire  Dick'  to  friends  and  inirnies.  Let  you  ride  with 
us  !  and  what  good  are  you  ?  Kin  you  fight  1  If  you  had  the 
liver  of  a  man  would  you  have  let  Willie  Sinclair  strip  you  of 
every  shilling?  Git  back  to  your  hole  before  I  lace  yor~ 
with  a  red  riband  stripe  for  every  inch  of  white  skin  on  your 
back." 

The  counsel  was  enforced  by  a  couple  of  strokes  which  ,,ent 
the  wretch  off  in  a  twink.  The  next  moment,  with  a  shrill 
whistle,  the  outlaws  were  on  the  road  and  away. 

But  Pete  Blodgit  was  not  to  be  left  behind.  Spite  of  the  ter 
rors  of  cowhide,  he  was  resolved  to  be  in  at  the  fleecing  of  the 
victim ;  and,  grinning  under  his  smarts,  as  well  of  mind  as  of 
body  — for  such  an  animal  does  suffer  from  a  sort  of  shame  and 
sense  of  despicableness  —  he  pushed  his  horse  forward,  suffi 
ciently  in  the  rear  of  the  pursuing  party  to  escape  their  notice, 
yet  sufficiently  close  to  be  able  to  overcome  any  interval  of 
space,  in  tolerably  short  time,  should  the  others  be  able  to 
overhaul  the  fugitive.  Pete  had  really  no  definite  hope  or  ob 
ject  in  thus  joining  the  pursuit ;  but  nothing  short  of  the  ter 
rors  of  death  could  have  overcome  the  painful  fascination  of 
the  adventure.  Merely  to  see  the  gold  of  which  he  had  been 


70  THE    FORAYERS. 

deprived  —  even  though  he  should  see  every  piece  of  it  pass 
into  other  hands  —  was  something  better  than  never  to  gloat 
over  it  again. 

He  rode  accordingly:  —  sometimes  forgetting  himself,  and 
sparring  eagerly  ahead  —  then,  under  some  prudent  precau 
tionary  fear,  dropping  behind  into  a  walk,  and  preparing  to 
shroud  himself  in  the  bushes,  should  the  outlaws,  par  hazard, 
Fall  suddenly  back  upon  him. 

They,  meanwhile,  went  at  the  top  of  their  speed.  A  wild 
chase,  no  doubt,  but  not  without  its  calculations.  Assuming 
Sinclair  to  have  had  an  hour's  start  of  them,  he  had  covered 
some  five  miles  of  ground.  To  overtake  him  was  possible;  but 
rhey  conjectured  readily  what  would  be  his  policy  in  that  event. 
He  must  take  to  the  \voods;  and,  in  his  doing  so,  lay  their  bet 
ter  chance  of  securing  him,  since,  throwing  themselves  between 
him  and  the  Barony,  cutting  him  offTrom  that  shelter,  their 
game  was  to  beat  the  woods,  in  broad  daylight,  until  he  was 
found.  They  were  keen  dogs  for  a  warm  scent,  and  did  not 
despair  of  finding  him  by  daylight.  Besides,  they  could  com 
mand  the  use  of  hounds,  practised  in  the  pursuit  of  men ;  and, 
even  as  they  rode,  they  calculated  on  the  necessity  of  sending 
off  one  of  their  party,  by  dawn,  down  to  the  kennel  of  Zeke 
Rodgers,  one  of  their  confederates,  some  five  miles  off.  To  an 
ticipate  Sinclair,  in  his  attempt  to  gain  the  Barony,  was  their 
present  object ;  arid,  whether  they  passed  him  on  the  road  or 
not,  was  by  no  means  a  consideration,  since  the  whole  of  the 
next  day  was  before  them,  and  they  had  no  knowledge  of  mili 
tary  parties,  anywhere  about,  to  interfere  with  their  pleasant 
pastime  in  the  hunt.  Their  policy  was  an  obvious. one. 

Sinclair,  a  man  of  great  woodland  resources,  readily  anticipa 
ted  all  these  calculations  of  the  outlaws,  if  once  they  undertook 
pursuit.  But  he  calculated  his  own  policy  also.  He  did  not 
push  his  beast  beyond  a  trot  during  the  hour  which  he  had  been 
upon  the  road ;  and,  at  the  close  of  this  period,  he  suffered  him 
to  subside  into  a  walk.  Thus  quietly  moving,  he  was  better 
able  to  take  in  distant  sounds,  than  if  he  had  suffered  the  hoof:3 
of  his  own  steed  to  beat  up  the  ears  of  silence. 

Nimrod  was  a  good  walker,  and  the  difference  between  his 
\valk  and  jog-trot  was  not  considerable,  lie  had,  accordingly, 


PURSUIT  AND   PASTURAGE.  71 

compassed  some  eight  miles  of  his  progress,  when  his  rider 
caught  the  sounds  of  pursuit  upon  the  wind.  He  instantly  took 
the  \voods;  but  not,  as  the  pursuers  anticipated,  on  that  side. of 
the  road  upon  which  the  baronial  settlement  of  his  father  lay; 
but  the  opposite.  This  procedure,  as  differing  entirely  from 
the  natural  suggestions  in  all  similar  cases,  was  designed  to  put 
the  pursuit  at  fault.  Sinclair,  in  the  opposite  woods,  was  un> 
suspected.  The  only  disadvantage  that  lay  in  the  adoption  of 
this  plan,  was  in  the  necessity  which  it  compelled,  of  making  a 
greater  circuit  than  otherwise  would  have  been  requisite,  and 
of  exposing  the  fugitive,  for  a  moment  or  two,  out  of  cover, 
while  again  crossing  the  road  to  recover  the  region  whither  his 
flight  was  directed.  But  this  necessity  did  not  seem  to  involve 
much  peril,  since  he  could  choose  his  own  place  and  moment 
for  the  attempt. 

Satisfied  on  this  score,  and  that  he  was  sufficiently  sheltered 
by  the  dense  forest  in  which  he  had  taken  refuge,  our  hero's 
policy  now  was,  to  suffer  the  pursuers  to  pass  him,  and  to  be 
sure  of  this  fact  himself.  With  this  object,  he  rode  his  horse  a 
h inn! red  yards  into  the  wood,  then  alighted,  fastened  him  to  a 
bough,  and  coolly  took  a  bee-line  back  to  the  road,  on  the  very 
edge  of  which  he  covered  himself  closely,  among  a  clump  of 
scrubby  oaks.  Here,  "  squat  like  a  toad,"  he  waited,  without 
apprehension,  the  approach  of  the  outlaws.  It  was  only  with 
a  slight  quickening  of  the  tides  about  his  heart,  that  he  saw 
them  at  length  heave  in  sight,  one  after  the  other,  four  dark 
and  hurrying  shadows,  going  at  a  smart  canter,  and  whirling 
along  without  the  slightest  heed  of  the  spot  where  he  harbored. 
He  suffered  them  to  pass  out  of  sight  and  hearing  before  he 
prepared  to  rise  ;  and,  just  when  he  was  about  to  do  so,  his  keen 
ears  caught  the  sound  of  another  horse  coming  from  below. 

"  Ha  !  If  this  should  be  Peyre  St.  Julien,  now,  with  his 
troop,  how  we  shall  make  the  feathers  of  these  rascals  fly." 

Our  major  of  dragoons  waited,  still  crouching  in  his  cover,  to 
seo  the  approaching  party.  It  was  not  his  friend  and  comrade 
St.  Julien. 

"Blodgit,  as  I  live!" 

He  knew  him  by  his  horse,  which  was  unfavorably  marked, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  jockeys,  by  fouiMvhite  feet. 


72  THE    FORAYEBS. 

"  Four  white  feet,"  quoth  Sinclair,  repeating  a  proverb 
"  give  him  to  the  crows." 

Blodgit  passed  slowly  at  a  jog-trot.  Sinclair  readily  con 
ceived  the  secret  of  the  latter's  progress. 

"They  have  refused  to  let  him  join  them  in  the  chase;  but 
he  hankers  after  his  share  of  the  guineas.  Fool !  they  would 
slit  his  weasand  before  they  would  let  him  have  a  stiver." 

Blodgit  was  suffered  to  pass  out  of  sight  also,  before  our  fugi 
tive  rose  from  cover,  and  picked  his  way  back  to  the  spot  where 
he  had  hitched  his  horse.  Here,  he  restrapped,  more  secure 
ly,  his  sack  of  powder ;  rearranged  his  whole  equipment ;  tight 
ened  his  girth,  reprimed  his  pistols;  then  coolly  resumed  his 
progress,  using  but  the  one  precaution  of  moving  onward,  at 
such  a  depth  in  the  cover  of  the  woods,  as  to  keep  him  from 
alarming  any  person  that  might  happen  to  be  watching  along 
the  road.  Fortunately,  the  region  was  a  familiar  one;  his  old 
stamping-ground,  distinguished  in  his  memory,  by  many  a 
squirrel  and  'coon  hunt,  when  a  boy,  and  by  numerous  achieve 
ments  of  a  more  exciting  kind,  when,  grown  to  man's  estate — 

"  With  horse  and  hound,  to  strike  the  deer, 
The  hunter  took  his  way." 

Confident,  therefore,  of  his  course,  Sinclair  proceed  3d  as 
leisurely  and  coolly  as  if  untroubled  by  any  apprehension. 
Perfect  silence  brooded  over  his  path.  The  cool  ah?  cf  morn 
ing  were  freshening  in  the  wood  —  the  stars  were  lessening 
above,  waning  or  stealing  out  of  sight.  The  route  was  dark 
enough  to  render  his  forest  progress  slow;  but  he  betrayed,  and 
really  felt,  few  anxieties.  So  perfectly  assured  was  he  of  his 
whereabouts,  that,  when  on  a  line  with  the  great  avenue  of  the 
Barony,  he  stopped  short,  and,  looking  about  him,  soon  found  n 
little  Indian  trail  which  he  knew  conducted  to  it ;  but  he  had 
no  purpose  to  pursue  it,  and,  still  pushing  forward,  he  wen' 
fully  half  a  mile  above,  before  he  inclined  once  more  toward 
the  high  road.  When  within  speaking  distance  of  it,  he 
paused,  and  gathered  up  his  several  clues  of  thought. 

"  These  rascals  take  for  granted  that  I  am  harbored  in  the 
woods  below.  They  will  skirt  the  lower  edge  of  the  plantation, 
covering  themselves  along  the  skirts  of  the  open  fields  and 


PURSUIT    AND    PASTURAGE.  73 

avenue,  to  intercept  me  as  I  approach.     Such  are  the  proba 
bilities.     Well — well !" 

And  the  major  of  dragoons  drew  near  to  the  road,  slowly, 
very  slowly,  with  ears  keenly  set  for  the  wind,  and  eyes  peer 
ing  into  the  solid  darkness  that  now  rose  up  like  a  wall  across 
the  route  only  thirty  yards  beyond.  Thus,  looking  and  listen 
ing,  he  went  forward  boldly,  and  crossed  the  road  in  safety, 
unseen  of  mortal  eyes. 

He  found  himself  now  in  a  dense  forest,  half  a  mile  above  the 
avenue,  but  still  forming  a  part  of  the  immense  baronial  estate 
of  his  father.  He  advanced  into  the  thicket  a  full  quarter  of  a 
mile,  then  turned  the  head  of  his  horse  downward,  and  made 
for  the  negro  settlement.  This  lay  on  the  edge  of  a  wood, 
which  formed  an  admirable  physical  barrier  on  the  east,  front 
ed  an  open  indigo-field,  in  cultivation,  upon  the  west,  and  by  a 
narrow  lane,  between  the  field  and  the  negro-houses,  conducted 
to  the  mansion,  and  the  adjacent  buildings ;  all  of  which  lay 
buried  in  a  world  of  evergreens  at  the  close  of  a  long  and 
noble  avenue  of  stately  forest-trees,  elms,  water-oaks,  and 
pines. 

Ben  Bowlegs  was  the  driver,  or  orderly-sergeant  of  Colonel 
William  Sinclair,  of  Cherokee  war  memory.  Ben,  himself,  had 
been  through  the  Cherokee  war,  as  a  henchman  of  his  master. 
Ben  was  an  old  soldier,  accordingly,  and  made  a  first-rate  plan 
tation  orderly..  He  had  but  one  grand  idea  as  a  planter,  and 
that  lay  in  a  single  word;  but  that  word,  like  the  potent 
"  sesame"  of  the  Arabian  tale,  involved  a  large  body  of  practi 
cal  philosophy.  "Push  !"  was  the  whole  sum  of  Ben's  policy. 
Push  at  the  beginning,  push  at  the  middle,  push  at  the  end  ;  be 
always  pushing  !  And  Ben's  pushing  made  crops  !  But  he  did 
not  spare  himself  in  pushing  others.  Ben  carried  out  his  princi- 
oles  into  practice.  He  never  slept  on  performances  done,  as 
aegroes  and  common  people  are  very  apt  to  do.  He  passed  to 
aew  ones.  He  was  a  moral  steam-engine,  working  huisdf,  and 
driving  every  one  ahead.  He  pushed  his  master,  as  well  as  his 
brother-slaves  ;  and  assigned  him  his  tasks  with  the  pertinacity 
of  one  who  was  resolved  to  be  something  more  than  a  counsel 
lor.  His  reverence  for  his  master  was  n^ver  such  as  simply  to 
endeavor  to  please,  him.  Ben  Bowlegs  delivered  the  truth  in 

4 


74  THE   FORAYERS. 

spite  of  consequences.     Was  Colonel  Sinclair  about  to  blunder  1 
Ben  interposed  abruptly  enough,  with  — 

"  Look  yer,  maussa,  ef  you  wants  to  play  h-11  wid  de  crop, 
da's  jist  de  way  for  do  urn.  Better  now,  you  go  see  arter  dem 
bloodlmuss  in  de  pastur'.  Dat  d — -n  son  ob  a  skunk, Toby,  he 
nebber  does  jussice  [justice]  to  dem  young  hauss.  Da's  what 
you  to  see  arter  !  Leff  de  crap  to  you  driber.  You  kin  truss 
him  r 

But,  thus  irreverent  to  his  old  master,  Ben  was  quite  another 
porson  when  dealing  with  the  young  one.  His  love,  here,  sup 
plied  the  place  of  reverence  ;  and  his  admiration  was  of  such  a 
sort  as  to  deprive  him  of  all  his  critical  acumen,  when  he  had 
to  judge  of  young  Willie's  opinions  and  performances.  We 
need  not  attempt  to  account  for  his  passion  for  "  young  Mass 
Willie."  Enough,  that  the  fact  is  unquestionable.  And  now, 
to  show  our  purpose  in  introducing  the  driver  to  our  readers  at 
this  moment. 

Ben  Bowlegs,  whether  because  of  some  natural  aversion  to 
the  sex,  or  because  of  the  mature  period  of  sixty-two  to  which 
he  had  arrived,  was  wifeless  and  childless.  He  was  perhaps, 
too  well  pleased  to  be  a  master,  to  suffer  himself  to  fall  under 
the  rule  of  any  mistress.  Ben  dwelt,  accordingly,  in  single- 
blessedness,  in  a  very  snug  cottage,  that  occupied  a  salient 
angle,  ranging  at  very  nearly  equal  distances  from  Jie  negro- 
houses  and  the  corn-crib.  A  little  grove,  and  a  small  turnip- 
patch,  separated  him  from  the  yard  in  which  the  mansion-house 
stood.  The  distance  was  not  considerable  from  either  of  these 
points.  Ben's  wigwam  stood  upon  pillars  of  pitch-pine,  about 
three  feet  from  the  ground.  You  might  approach  it  all  the 
way  from  the  confines  of  the  forest  under  cover  of  sheltering 
evergreens.  These  particulars  will  sufficiently  explain  certain 
matters  which  we  have  now  to  evolve. 

Well !  Ben  being  the  sole  occupant  of  his  house,  it  may  be 
supposed  that  he  slept  in  tolerable  comfort.  He  usually  slept 
well. 

"  Praise  de  Lawd !"  was  his  occasional  exclamation,  "  dere's 
no  woman  yer  to  bodder  me  !  Bressings  ob  de  Lawd,  dere's  no 
eli  ill  en  to  dribe  de  slpep  from  my  eye  !  I  kin  hab  my  sleep 
when  de  night  c  )ine,  and  nebber  ax  no  body  for  le'  me  'Ion0  ' 


PURSUIT    AND    PASTURAGE.  7,5 

No  man  ever  had  a  more  profound  sense  of  his  good  fortune. 
in  these  respects,  than  Ben  Bowlegs ;  and  no  one,  surely,  ever 
more  devoutly  acknowledged  the  beneficence  of  Providence  in 
affording  him  these  sufficient  causes  of  gratitude !  Ben  slept 
alone,  slept  well,  and  always  awoke  early.  While  his  young 
master,  Willie  Sinclair,  was  dodging  the  outlaws,  Ben's  nose 
was  making  famous  bugle-sounds  in  his  cottage — wasting  its 
music  "  on  the  desert  air,"  indeed ;  but,  without  any  cavilling 
spirit  to  rebuke  its  free  privileges.  Ben  had,  accordingly,  ac 
complished  the  largest  amount  of  necessary  sleep  a  good  hour 
before  the  dawning  of  the  day.  He  was  now  wakeful,  and  med 
itating  what  was  to  be  done  that  day  in  the  fields.  Touching 
the  tobacco,  there  was  a  weeding  of  the  weed  to  be  done ;  corn 
—  there  was  the  last  hoeing:  the  corn  was  nearly  made;  some 
earnest  meditations  employed  him  in  respect  to  a  little  patch 
of  rice ;  and  there  were  sundry  interests  which  naturally  exer 
cised  the  mind  of  our  model  driver,  particularly  as  Colonel  Sin 
clair,  who  was  himself  a  very  good  planter,  employed  no  over 
seer.  It  was  while  busy  with  his  field  and  farmyard  problems 
*hat  Ben  Bowlegs  was  suddenly  startled  into  a  new  conscious 
ness,  by  a  certain  mysterious  rapping  upon  the  floor. beneath 
him.  He  listened  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  The  rapping  was  re 
peated. 

"  Lawd  Gimini !  it's  young  maussa  !" 

He  jumped  out  of  bed  in  a  twinkle,  stooped  to  the  floor, 
raised  the  section  of  a  plank,  and  our  major  of  dragoons  slowly 
shot  nj),  from  a  rather  humble  posture,  into  his  full  height,  and 
scrambled  deftly  into  the  apartment.  It  was  very  evident  that 
the  major  and  the  driver  had  been  at  the  same  mysterious  play 
before.  Ben  caught  his  master's  hand  joyfully,  and  shook  it 
with  a  fiercely-loving  gripe. 

"  Grad  for  see  you,  Mass  Willie  —  no  look  for  you  clis  time, 
but  mighty  grad  for  see  you  !  T'ink  you  bin  gone  wid  tie  socl- 
gers  up  into  de  mountains.  But  grad  for  see  you  yer.  Grad 
for  tell  you,  sir,  all's  well  yer,  'cept  de  ole  colonel,  dat's  got 
de  debbil  and  all-fire  in  his  foot  ag'in  !  But  Miss  Carrie's  like 
a  rose  in  de  morning,  and  little  Lottie  is  anoder  leetle  rose  in 
>le  morning;  and  ebbry  pusson  dat  you  carss  to  yer  'bout  is 
most  astonislrng,  charming  well,  'cept,  as  I  say,  de  ole  colonel  • 


76  THE   FORAYERS. 

rtnd  de  fire  in  he  foot  makes  him  bile  ober  ebbry  now  and  den, 
and  it's  mighty  hard  for  a  'spectable  gentleman  to  stan*  him 
when  he's  in  his  ondecent  passion !  And  how's  you,  Mass 
Willie  ?  How's  you  bin  1  Lord  delibber  me,  but  it  does  seem 
as  ef  you  was  nebber  to  be  done  growing.  You're  a  foot  taller, 
I'm  a-t'inking,  then  when  you  went  off  in  de  spring  !" 

And  Ben  the  Bowlegged  wheeled  the  young  major  about, 
making  due  presentation  of  him  to  every  point  of  the  compasH, 
until  he  had  satisfied  himself  that,  in  growing  taller,  his  young 
master  had  lost  nothing  of  that  symmetry  which  had  rendered 
him  perfect  in  his  eyes  before. 

"  Well,  Ben ;  as  well  as  a  man  can  be  who  has  the  appetite  of 
forty  Indians  always,  and  not  often  the  meal  to  satisfy  one 
sufficiently." 

"  Lawd  bless  you,  dat's  wha'  I  says  to  myse'f,  ebbry  time  I 
sets  down  to  my  dinner  —  I  says,  Lawd,  ef  I  could  only  gee 
Mass  Willie  a  bit  ol.  dis  bacon,  or  a  plate  ob  dis  rice,  or  a  wing 
ob  dis  chicken,  or  a  dozen  ob  dese  eggs,  or  a  bowl  ob  dis  coffee, 
•»r  somet'ing  or  udder,  sich  as  I  has  a-hissing  and  a-smoking 
before  me  ;  wha'  ebber  I  hab  for  my  own  eating  dat  day  !" 

"  Thank  you  for  your  good  intentions,  Ben,  and  I'm  sure 
your  dinner  would  be  a  thousand  times  far  more  grateful  than 
what  we  commonly  get  —  the  best  of  us  —  in  camp." 

"Lean  beef — carrion,  I  may  call  um  — skin  and  bone; 
sometimes  no  beef  at  all  —  not'ing  better  dan  bile  hom'ny— 

"  Ay,  indeed,  Benny ;   and  sometimes  horse-beef,  old  fellow 
such  as  my  father  had  to  eat,  when  you  went  with  him,  in  tlm 
old  Cherokee  war." 

"  It's  a  most  onmassiful  life,  Mass  Willie,  to  be  a  sodger  • 
and  I  tinks  ob  de  bad  libing  for  you  ebbry  day.  But  you'll 
hab  somet'ing  better  to-day,  please  God  !  and  ebbry  day  you 
hab  for  stay  wid  us." 

"  Not  long,  Ben !  Camp  duties  can't  suffer  me  to  delay  even 
where  the  beef  is  excellent ;  and  you  well  know  that  so  long  as 
this  war  Insts,  I  am  not  likely  to  be  met,  coming  home,  with  my 
father's  smiles." 

"  Da's  true,  Mass  Willie,"  answered  the  other  with  a  sigh. 
u  De  ole  gentleman's  jest  as  foolish  and  onsonsible  as  cbbcr ; 
iiul  jest  now,  wid  cle  clebbil  nm!  nil-fire,  burning  in  his  foo* 


PURSUIT    AND    PASTURAGE.  77 

and  de  troubles  we'be  been  habing  wid  some  of  dese  outlying 
rascals  in  de  swamp  —  butchering  de  cattle,  and  robbing  de 
poultry-yard  —  he's  biling  ober,  I  may  say,  wid  all  sort  ob  on- 
reasonable  vexations." 

"  What !  have  the  tories  been  at  work  upon  your  cattle, 
Ben  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  a-tinking  dat  it's  as  much  whigs  as  tories 
When  cattle-tie ving's  the  business,  and  henroost-robbing, 
there  ain't  much  difference,  I'm  a-tinking,  among  sodgers. 
Dey're  all  alike  —  whigs  and  tories,  king's  men  and  people's 
men  ;  de  fac'  is,  Mass  Willie,  de  very  sight  ob  a  fat  steer,  or 
a  clobber  young  heifer,  naterally,  I  may  say,  turns  an  honest 
•sodgror  into  a  tief !" 

"  Take  care,  Ben.  If  the  soldier  should  hear  you  uttering 
any  such  sentiments?" 

"  I  mus'  uttar  dem,  Mass  Willie,  kaise,  you  see,  it's  de  on- 
nateral,  Christian  trnte,  I'm  a-telling.  Ebbry  ole  sodger  is 
bound  to  tief  chickens  and  cattle  when  de  chaince  is  good  foi 
clearing  out  a  henroost,  or  knocking  a  young  steer  on  de  head. 
Dey've  been  at  dis  work  yer  at  de  Barony,  a  leetle  too  often 
ob  late  to  please  de  ole  maussa ;  and  he  all  but  bile  ober  when 
he  hears  ob  it,  and  feels  de  fire  in  his  foot  dat  keeps  him  from 
mounting  horse,  and  dribing  de  swamp  for  de  rapscallions." 

"  And  he  curses  the  whigs  accordingly  V1 

"  Dat  he  does !  He  says  it's  all  owing  to  de  friends  of  liber 
ty.  Den  he  cusses  de  liberty,  and  den  he  grunts  and  says  — 
'  And  my  own  son  !  my  own  son  !  He  to  take  up  arms  ag'in 
his  king  and  country,  to  help  dese  rapscallions !'  But  ho 
don't  cuss  you,  Mass  Willie  —  no  !  no  !  he  don't  zackly  do  dat !" 

"I  am  grateful  for  that,  Benny  —  very  grateful;  but  I'm 
afraid  he  comes  monstrous  nigh  to  doing  so,  when  he's  boiling 
over." 

"Well,  I  reckon  he  would,  Willie  Sinclair  —  I  reckon  nc 
would,  ef  'twan't  for  an  angel,  dat  just  den  light  down  close  by 
his  shoulder,  and  puts  he  arms  round  he  neck,  and  looks  inter 
he  face  jest  so,  with  sich  a  smiling  and  sicli  a  weeping  in  her 
eyes,  and  sich  s\v;  et  worlds  upon  her  mouth,  and  kisses  too,  dat 
liis  heart  gets  weakly  and  saft,  and  she  stops  de  cusses  on  his 
lips;  and  he  stops  biling  over,  and  forgits  de  British  and  de 


78  THE   FORAYERS. 

whigs  and  ae»  tories  —  forgits  every  ting  but  jest  what  de 
blessed  white  angel  happens  to  say  so  saftly  in  his  ears.  Ah ! 
Mass  Willie,  dat's  a  bressed  critter,  to  be  a  woman,  dat  same 
gal  child,  Carrie  Sinclair." 

"Dear  Carrie!"  exclaimed  the  major  of  dragoons,  while  he 
involuntarily  grasped  the  old  negro's  hand ;  and  a  silent  tear 
suddenly  gathered  in  his  eye,  bright  and  clear,  as  a  pearl  of 
ocean  thrown  up  by  the  billows,  and  left  upon  the  beaten  shore 
in  the  smiles  of  an  evening  sunset.  "  Dear  Carrie  !"  murmured 
the  youth.  "  But  you  remind  me,  Benny.  I  must  hurry  to  her 
and  to  the  house,  Benny,  before  the  day  opens  broadly  upon 
us," 

"  It's  about  day -breaking  now,  Mass  Willie." 

"  Then  you  must  stir  yourself,  old  fellow,  and  see  to  my  horse, 
and  see  to  the  bundles  on  his  back.  Put  away  the  sack  of  pow 
der  and  the  bullets  in  the  old  hiding-place,  and  see  that  you  hide 
my  horse  also.  He  must  riot  go  into  the  stables.  In  fact,  it 
must  not  be  known  on  the  plantation  that  I  am  here.  I  must 
see  Carrie ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  let  my  father  suspect 
my  presence.  I  am  pursued,  Benny,  and  the  plantation  is  even 
now  under  the  close  watch  of  '  Hell-fire  Dick,'  and  a  portion  of 
his  gang." 

"  Hell-fire  Dick  !  He  'bout  yer  ag'in  !  Da's  de  same  rap 
scallion  dat's  been  feeding  'pon  we  cattle.  I  sure  ob  it !" 

"  Yes !  likely  enough.  He  is  certainly  here.  I  have  seen 
him  this  night.  I  have  also  found  out  that  scamp,  Pete  Blod- 

git-" 

"  Enty  I  bin  always  tell  you,  Pete  Blodgit's  a  great  rapscal 
lion,  and  no  better  dan  a  scamp  ?" 

"  I  know  it  now  !  But  I  have  laid  him  bare.  The  scoundrel 
would  have  taken  my  life,  could  he  have  mustered  courage  for 
it." 

"  He  no  hab  de  heart,  Mass  Willie.  He's  a  coward  an'  a 
rapscallion.  Ha  !  le'  me  put  finger  on  'em." 

"  We  may  have  a  chance,  Benny,  to  put  the  whole  hand  upon 
him,  and  a  few  other  of  these  rascals.  They  were  all  on  my 
track  to-night ;  and  are  now  harboring  about  the  avenue,  and 
skirting  the  lower  woods.  They,  no  doubt,  believe  me  to  be 
still  below,  and  are  watching  there  for  my  approach.  I  took 


PUBSUiT   A.VD    PASTU1UGE.  71* 

the  opposite  woods,  got  above  the  Barony,  and  came  down  by 
Henderson's  old  cattle-pen.  It  is  my  plan  now,  to  lie  still,  not 
to  be  seen  or  suspected  as  having  reached  the  Barony ;  for  we 
know  not  what  these  rascals  would  have  the  audacity  to  attempt, 
now  that  they  believe  that  all  the  troops,  British  and  American, 
are  above  at  Ninety-Six.  If  they  were  sure  of  my  presence  here, 
they  might  even  attempt  to  sack  the  Barony,  since  they  know 
that  I  have  a  considerable  sum  of  money  with  me." 

"Wha!  dey  'tack  de  Barony?  Le'  fem  try!  Enty  ole 
maussa  yer,  and  you  yer,  and  me  yer ;  and  der's  some  sebben 
or  eight  ob  we  brack  people  dat  ain't  'f  aid  [afraidj  ob  de  music 
when  de  bullets  fly ;  and  day  will  fight  like  bressed  varmints, 
jest  whenebber  maussa  say  de  wurd.  Den  we  hab  gun  and 
pistol  and  swode ;  and  enty  you  hab  powder  and  bullet  on  de 
hoss?  Le'  me  gone  for  'em  right  away  !" 

"  Do  so,  Benny ;  but  first  go  and  waken  up  little  Peter,  and 
let  him  open  the  house-door  to  me,  so  that  I  can't  be  kept  wait 
ing  outside  where  I  may  be  seen.  And  bring  Tiger  with  you 
so  that  I  may  renew  my  acquaintance  with  him  here,  lest  he 
should  fly  out  upon  me,  and  alarm  the  neighborhood  with  his 
barking." 

"  I  gone,  maussa." 

Soon,  the  faithful  negro  reappeared,  bringing  the  powerful 
watchdog,  an  animal  with  a  cross  of  the  English  bull  upon  the 
Irish  wolf-dog,  broad  bullet-head,  lion  neck,  ample  chest,  short, 
well-sinewed  legs,  and  a  short  hair  that  lay  smooth,  and  always 
looking  moist,  close  to  his  skin.  The  fierce  beast  leaped  to  the 
caresses  of  his  young  master,  with  a  loving  whine,  knowing  him 
at  a  glance.  Together,  the  two,  the  major  and  the  dog,  stol  -j 
away  to  the  dwelling,  while  Ben  proceeded  to  put  his  young 
master's  horse,  and  the  several  burdens  which  he  bore,  in  ;ev' 
eral  places  of  security. 


THE   FORAYER3. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

CUPID    AND    CUPIDITY, 

OUR  major  of  dragoons  found  no  impediment  in  effecting  his  en 
trance  into  the  dwelling.  Ho  was  met  at  the  door  and  welcomed 
by  little  Peter,  who  stood  in  waiting,  his  eyes  not  fairly  opened, 
and  his  consciousness  but  partially  excited.  Little  Peter  was  a 
fellow  more  than  six  feet  high  :  but  his  growth,  however  great, 
never  enabled  him  to  outgrow  the  diminutive  epithet  which  hailed 
his  puny  advent  into  life.  The  little  stuck  to  him  even  when 
he  had  grown  into  a  giant.  His  world,. not  unlike  that  of  most 
great  men,  was  tenacious  of  the  disparaging  epithet  by  which 
his  greatness  stood  rebuked  ;  and  seemed  resolved  never  to 
recognise  a  growth  which  exposed  so  completely  the  absurdity 
of  their  premature  judgment  in  his  case.  Neither  the  negro 
nor  the  white  world  is  pleased,  at  any  time,  to  acknowledge 
that  its  sagacity  has  been  at  fault,  in  failing  to  conceive  the 
great  capabilities  of  its  own  members,  while  they  are  yet  only 
in  the  gristle. 

Though  only  half  awake,  little  Peter  grasped  his  young  mas 
ter's  hand  with  an  unction  which  showed  that  the  boyish  rela 
tions  of  the  two  had  been  equally  pleasant  and  familiar ;  and 
our  major  of  dragoons  requited  the  gripe  in  a  way  to  satisfy  all 
the  social  sympathies  in  the  negro's  heart. 

"Berry  grad  for  see  you,  Mass  Willie.  Grad  you  come. 
Exceed  ant  berry  grad  for  see  you  " 

"  Thank  you,  Peter ;  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you  !  Why,  boy, 
are  you  never  to  stop  growing]  You  are  half  a  head  taller 
than  your  master.  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  grow  so  tall1?" 

Peter  answered  with  a  satisfied  grin. 

"  Now,  Peter,  remember  one  thing.  You  are  not  to  say  a 
word  to  any  living  soul  about  my  being  here — not  even  to 
your  wife  !  Do  yon  hear  that,  Peter1?" 


CUPID    AND    CUPIDITY.  81 

"  Hah  Bress  God,  Mass  Willie,  I  ain't  got  no  wife  yit ! 
Hope  foi  hab  one  some  day,  and  efyou  be  so  good,  Mass  Willie, 
to  say  de  good  wud  for  me  to  Miss  Carrie,  and  mek  'em  le'  me 
hab  Congaree  Polly,  wlia'  wait  on  em " 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  you  have  Congaree  Polly,  if  you  are 
both  willing  ?" 

"Das  wha*  I  say,  maussa." 

4<  She's  not  too  good  for  you,  Peter — certainly  not  too  hand 
some." 

"  Congaree  Polly  mighty  good  looking  gal,  maussa." 

"  Then  she  has  undergone  a  marvellous  improvement,  Peter, 
like  yourself.  But,  if  you  are  satisfied,  so  am  I;  and  I  will 
report  your  wishes  to  my  sister.  But  I  remember  Conga 
ree  Polly  only  as  one  of  the  most  awkward  creatures  on 
the  plantation,  and  wondered  that  Carrie  took  her  into  the 
house." 

"  Polly  mighty  smart  and  scrumptious,  Mass  Willie." 

"  I  don't  doubt  the  '  scrumptious,'  Peter,  and  it  may  be  that 
she  has  acquired  the  '  smart'  too ;  but  the  beauty  is  quite  an 
other  thing.  However,  if  you  really  wish  to  be  a  married  man, 
and  she  suits  you,  there  can  be  no  objection  ;  provided  she 
makes  none.  I  will  let  my  sister  hear  of  it.  In  the  meantime, 
Peter,  do  you  remember  that  I  am  to  be  here  in  secret  —  no 
body  is  to  know,  not  even  Congaree  Polly,  unless  she  gets  the 
fact  from  myself  or  my  sister ;  and  that  she  will  do,  only  because 
the  matter  can  not  well  be  kept  from  her.  A  secret  never  im 
proves  its  complexion  by  unnecessarily  uncovering  its  head. 
Lock  your  door  again,  Peter.  Let  Tig  ,r  -emaiii  with  me  for  a 
while.  He  will  be  quiet  here." 

And  the  negro  proceeded  about  his  house  affairs;  and  the 
major  of  dragoons,  followed  closely  by  Tiger,  passed  into  the 
interior  of  the  house  with  quiet  footsteps,  and  a  degree  of  con 
fidence,  which  showed  both  parties  to  be  equally  familiar  with 
all  its  recesses.  Sinclair,  wearing  Indian  boots — moccasins 
and  leggins  of  buckskin  — awoke  no  echoes  by  his  tread  ;  and 
the  feet  of  Tiger,  as  if  emulous  of  his  master's  stealthy  progress, 
were  set  down  as  if  he  trod  on  -velvet.  The  major  passed  the 
chamber  in  the  upper  story,  in  which  his  father  slept,  with  in 
creased  caution  of  movement :  and  went  on  rather  hurriedly  to 

4* 


82  THE    FOllAYERS. 

that  which  his  sister  occupied,  at  the  end  of  the  passage.     Tap 
ping  at  the  door  lightly,  he  was  promptly  heard  within. 

"  Who  is  that  —  Polly  T  was  asked,  in  the  well-remembered 
accents  of  his  sister.  Another  tap  answered  her,  and  a  whistle 
through  the  keyhole,  which  she  readily  recognised. 

"Willie!     Can   it  be  Willie1?"  were  the  words  which  dis 
tinctly  reached  the  ears  of  the  major.     He  whistled  again,  and 
then  the  voice  whispered  to  him  through  the  keyhole :  — 
"  Wait  a  moment,  Willie,  till  I  throw  on  my  gown." 
He  had  not  long  to  wait.     The  door  was  soon  opened,  ana 
the  brother  and  sister  were  instantly  wrapped  in  a  loving  em 
brace  ;  and  little  Lottie  (Charlotte),  a  girl  of  ten  years,  followed 
for  her  embrace  also  ;  and,  for  a  few  moments,  the  joy  of  the 
meeting,  after  a  long  interval  of  absence  and  danger,  kept  all 
the  parties  from  the   expression  of  their  feelings  in  speech. 
Meanwhile,  we  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  Carrie  Sinclair 
was  a    all  fresh  beauty  of  the  Monde  order,  and  little  Lottie  was 
very  much  like  her  •  —  "  with  a  difference"  of  course     Both  had 
very  fair  complexions,  and  very  long,  silken,  brown  hair,  and 
(    Carrie  had  large  swimming  blue  eyes,  and  a  soft,  small  deli 
cious  mouth,  that  seemed  gushing  with  red  blood,  even  as  an 
Indian  peach  whose  cheeks  you  have  parted  with  an  eager 
knife.     Willie  Sinclair  watched  the  two,  perused  them,  we  may 
say,  with  almost  the  fondness  of  a  lover.     And  very  precious 
indeed  were  they  to  his  love.     The  ties  of  affection  which  uni 
ted  their  hearts  were  of  the  tenderest  sort,  such  as  had  never 
been  sundered,  or  even  shocked,  for  a  single  instant,  from  the 
happy  hours  of  their  innocent  childhood  to  the  present  moment. 
And  few  words  were  spoken  for  a  delicious  interval.     They 
were  content  to  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  to  feel  tne 
pressure  of  each  other's  hands.     The  dialogus  was  murmured 
rather  than  spoken, 

•<  Oh  I  Willie,  I  am  so  happy  that  I  see  you  again,  and  safe, 

and  well !" 

"And  I  am  so  happy  when  I  get  back  to  the  Barony,  ami 

find  you  without  change,  Carrie." 

-  And  you  have  come  now  to  stay  with  us,  Brother  Wil. 

said  little  Lottie. 

He  shook  his  head,  while  he  took  tlw  child  into  his  arms- 


CUPID   AND   CUPIDITY.  83 

"  But  a  little  while,  Lottie.  War  suffers  no  long  repose  to 
the  soldier." 

"  But  the  wars  will  soon  be  over,  Brother  Willie.  Papa  says 
that  the  king's  troops  will  beat  your  soldiers  out  of  the  coun 
try." 

"  I  hope  not,  Lottie,  and  think  not ! — and  so," — turning  to 
Carrie,  "  so,  he  has  a  touch  of  the  gout  at  this  moment  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  pretty  severe  one  too." 

"A  bad  season  for  showing  myself  before  him,  Carrie." 

Carrie  looked  anxious,  but  she  did  not  answer ;  and,  after  a 
brief  pause,  she  contrived  to  send  Lottie  out  of  the  apartment ; 
the  major  warning  the  child  that  she  was,  on  no  account,  or  to 
anybody,  to  mention  that  he  was  in  the  house." 

"  Not  to  papa,  Brother  Willie  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Not  even  to  papa,  little  Lottie.  Leave  me  to  do  that  myself, 
when  the  time  comes." 

The  child,  rewarded  by  another  kiss  from  her  brother,  dis 
appeared,  and,  with  her  departure,  the  dialogue  became  more 
free  between  the  elder  sister  and  the  brother. 

"  Whether  I  shall  show  myself  at  present  to  my  father,  Car 
rie,  must  depend  upon  your  report.  His  gout  will  add  to  the 
embarrassments  between  us,  and  the  difficulty  of  avoiding  pain 
ful  language.  He  is,  I  fear,  but  little  reconciled  ;  and  the  ab 
surd  notion  that  he  entertains,  that  our  cause  is  failing,  ^ill 
make  him  more  unreasonable  and  unreasoning.  The  relief  of 
'  Ninety-Six,'  the  retreat  of  Greene  before  Rawdon,  the  arrival 
of  new  troops,  three  fresh  regiments  from  Ireland,  all  of  which 
he  probably  knows,  have  contributed,  no  doubt,  to  fortify  him 
in  his  convictions  that  our  cause  is  well  nigh  prostrated." 

"  Such  is,  certainly,  the  case,  Willie,"  said  the  sister,  with  a 
mournful  shake,  of  the  head.  The  brother  continued  :— 

"  He  does  not  know,  as  yet,  perhaps,  that  Rawdon  has,  in 
turn,  been  compelled  to  retreat ;  that <  Ninety-Six  '  has  been  evac 
uated  almost  as  soon  as  relieved  ;  that  the  Irish  troops  can  not 
be  trusted ;  and  that  the  partisans  are  every  day  increasing  in 
number,  in  spirit  and  confidence,  and,  under  new  leaders,  hith 
erto  unknown,  are  starting  up,  on  all  sides,  like  the  armed  men, 
from  the  teeth  of  the  dragon  !  In  brief,  my  dear  Carrie,  our 
cause  in  Carolina  was  never  so  prosperous  in  prospect  before 


«M  THE   FORAYERS. 

We  have  passed  our  darkest  day.     We  are  about  to  enjoy  tLe 
new  dawn." 

"  Not  a  word  of  this  does  he  know,  and,  I  may  say,  Willie, 
that,  in  his  present  conditions  and  mood,  not  a  word  is  he  likely 
to  believe.  He  thinks  the  triumph  of  the  British  arms  certain  ; 
and  was, only  yesterday,  malting  it  a  subject  of  discussion  —  I 
suppose  chiefly  to  worry  me  —  whether,  it  became  him,  as  a  true 
subject,  and  as  an  honorable  man,  to  interfere  with  a  petition 
to  Lord  Rawdon,  in  your  behalf,  in  anticipation  of  your  captiv 
ity,  trial  and  doom,  as  a  traitor." 

The  major  of  dragoons  laughed  merrily. 

'  Why  this  is  worse  than  ever,  Carrie.  The  supposed  suc 
cesses  of  the  British  arms  ought  r'.ther  to  put  him  in  better 
humor." 

"  So  it  would,  Willie,  no  doubt,  had  it  not  been  for  the  dis 
covery  which  he  has  lately  made  of  your  visits  to  a  place  on  the 
Edisto,  called  Holly-Dale." 

"Hah!"  was  the  sudden  exclamation  of  the  major,  while  a 
warm  suffusion  passed  over  his  cheeks.  The  sister  beheld  this, 
and  said  reproachfully  : — 

"  Ah  !  Willie,  there  is  a  secret  you  have  kept  from  me  V 

"  Not  willingly.  Not  with  any  purpose  of  concealment,  dear 
Carrie.  I  meant  that  you  should  know  all  in  season.  But  tell  me 
— vfhat  has  my  father  heard,  and  from  whom  ?  Who  has  been 
here  ?" 

"  Your  man,  Ballou,  was  here,  and  I  think  that  something 
dropped  from  him  that  led  father  to  suspect.  Afterward,  there 
came  a  certain  Captain  Travis,  an  elderly  person " 

«  Ah  !  —  indeed !     He  here  ?" 

"  Who,  it  seems,  is  the  proprietor  of  Holly-Dale." 

"  What  did  he  come  for  ?" — hastily 

"  I  did  not  learn  ;  but  father  and  himsel/  were  closeted  to 
gether  for  a  couple  of  hours.  I  saw  them  when  they  first  met 
in  the  hall.  They  seemed  to  have  known  each  other  before." 

"  They  served  together  in  the  Cherokee  war." 

"  It  was  very  evident  to  me  that  father  did  not  like  the  man, 
uor  did  I!  —  he  seemed  a  sly,  selfish,  fawning  sort  of  person, 
with  a  mean  carriage,  a  sinister  look,  and  a  stealthly  cat-like 
motion." 


CUPID   AKD   CUPIDITY.  87 

' '  A  true  picture  —  too  true ! "  ~°.. 

"When  lie  was  gone  —  and  I  was  not  present  when  he  went  — I 
found  father  full  of  rage  and  indignation.  He  spoke  of  this 
Captain  Travis  as  a  mean,  monej'-loving  miser,  who  was  more  than 
suspected  of  peculation  in  the  commissary  department  during  the 
Cherokee  war." 

The  cheek  and  brow  of  the  major  again  flushed  and  reddened, 
and  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  paced  the  room.  His  sister  paused 
and  watched  him.  He  returned  to  his  seat  after  an  effort,  and  said 
quietly  : 

"Goon,  Carrie,  with  your  story." 

"  '  Did  you  mark  that  fellow,  Carrie!'  said  my  father  to  me  on 
my  return  to  the  room,  when  the  guest  had  departed  — '  did  you 
mark  Ms  mean,  avaricious  aspect,  his  ratlike  avidity  of  expression, 
his  catlike,  stealthy  movements,  —  the  hateful  cunning  in  his  eyes, 
the  sly,  sneaking,  insinuating  tones  of  his  voice  —  the  utter  baseness 
in  everything  about  him?  '  " 

"  Well!  go  on,"  said  the  major,  looking  gloomy. 

"  Such  was  his  question.  Of  course,  I  said  as  little  as  possible, 
seeing  his  humor,  and  knowing  nothing  about  the  person,  who  —  I 
really  felt  — was  anything  but  prepossessing  in  appearance.  '  That 
fellow,  he  continued,  '  has  made  a  fortune  by  peculation.  He  has 
large  estates  —  lands,  negroes,  and  I  suppose  money.  But  he  is 
a  scoundrel  — and  knows  that  I  know  him  to  be  one!  I  spurned 
him  as  such  when  we  served  together  among  the  Cher- 
okees;  and,  but  for  that  rebellious  son  of  mine,  he  never 
would  have  dared  to  show  bis  face  in  my  house!  Well! 
this  wretch,  this  reptile,  has  the  audacity,  under  the  sanc 
tion  of  my  own  blood  —  my  own  son  —  to  come  here  and  propose 
an  alliance  with  my  family.  What  do  you  think  of  that?' 
said  he. 

"I  never  gave  any  such  sanction;  — I  never  authorized  any  such 
proposal  —  I  never  spoke  one  syllable  to  Captain  Travis  on  the 
subject." 

Such  was  the  hasty  speech  of  the  Major  of  Dragoons. 

"Oh!  I'm  so  glad,  Willie,  to  hear  you  say  so!" — exclaimed 
Carrie  — "for,  of  a  truth,  brother,  I  have  rarely  seen  father  in 
such  a  passion  as  he  was  put  by  the  proposals  of  this  person. 
It  brought  on  him  this  last  attack  of  gout.  Oh !  if  you  can  only 


I1  HE   FORAYERS. 

tha';  you  never  authorized  this  person  —  that  you  have 
no  idea  of  the  young  woman,  his  daughter " 

"  Alas  !  sister  mine,  I  can  say  no  such  thing !"  answered  the 
youth,  with  an  effort  to  speak  gayly.  "  I  can  say  that  I  sanc 
tioned  none  of  Captain  Travis  s  proceedings  —  that  I  authorize^ 
him  to  speak  for  me  in  nothing !  But  I  confess  to  you,  Carrie, 
my  love,  that  I  have  a  serious  idea  of  his  daughter ;  and  that 
though  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  father  —  nay,  think  of 
him  very  much  as  our  father  does/- -yet  I  should  welcome  an 
alliance  with  his  daughter,  as  one  of  the  most  grateful  of  all 
mortal  acquisitions." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  brother,  that  you  would  marry  into  such 
a  low  family  ?" 

"  I  do  not  marry  the  family  !  Besides,  Carrie,  the  family  is 
not  low  !  The  mother  was  a  Fergusson  of  St.  Thomas's,  and 
a  fine  woman.  The  daughter  is  as  noble  and  sweet  a  creature 
as  may  be  found  anywhere  between  the  Peedee  and  the  Sa 
vannah.  She  will  do  no  discredit  to  any  family  in  the  country  ; 
and,  once  for  all,  hear  it  from  me,  Carrie,  I  shall  never  be  the  man 
to  sacrifice  the  best  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  and  the  best  claims 
in  the  heart  and  form  of  woman,  to  the  prejudices  of  caste  and 
society,  which  perpetually  fluctuate  in  position,  and  just  as 
frequently  exhibit  baseness  as  nobility,  in  the  elements  which 
they  foster,  and  upon  which  they  pride  themselves  !" 

"  But  you  surely,  Willie,  acknowledge  the  claim  of  caste  and 
society  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  Carrie ;  but  not  when  they  err,  and  do 
wrong  to  claims  which  are  not  less  legitimate  than  their  own ! 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  err,  Carrie ;  in  their  inflexible  resolve 
never  to  recognise  those  exceptional  cases  which  are  rightly 
acknowledged  always,  as  such,  even  when  we  obey  the  rule. 
Caste  and  class  properly  pride  themselves  upon  the  habitual  re 
finements  of  mind  and  moral,  acquired  in  long  periods  of  time. 
This  constitutes  their  just  claim  to  authority;  and  they  rightly 
hold  themselves  aloof  from  associations  with  other  classes,  who 
do  not  know,  and  do  not  properly  value  these  refinements.  But 
there  is,  here  and  there,  a  natural  nobility  in  individuals,  which 
override-3  the  law,  and  demands  recognition.  There  are  persons 
.o  whom  refinement  is  native — who  are  born  nobles  —  delicate 


CUPID    AND    CUPIDITY.  87 

and  just  in  sentiment,  magnanimous  in  soul,  generous  in  courage, 
endowed  with  noble  talents,  and  devoted  to  noble  purposes.  It 
is  the  duty  of  an  aristocracy  to  acknowledge  all  such  persons,  as 
soon  as  found,  and  take  them  lovingly  into  their  embrace,  and 
seek  to  do  them  honor ;  and  there  is  a  twofold  wisdom  in  doing 
so,  since  we  thus  add  to  our  own  resources  of  society,  and  in 
crease  our  influence  upon  mankind  at  large.  But  classes  are 
ant  to  show  themselves  too  jealous  of  position,  and  too  slow  to 
recognise  these  occasional  claims  of  the  individual.  The  conse 
quence  is  that  they  make  him  hostile ;  and  he  will  bring  his 
natural  powers  to  bear  against  them  —  will  expose  their  weak 
nesses,  and  revenge  upon  them  his  own  hurts  of  self-esteem  — 
an  injustice  that  always  avenges  itself  upon  the  wrong-doer 
and,  in  the  end,  we  pay  a  double  penalty;  forced  not  only,  at 
last,  to  acknowledge  the  claims  to  which  we  unwisely  opposed 
ourselves  at  first,  but  to  pay  them  tribute  also,  and  to  submit  to 
an  authority  which  becomes  exacting  and  despotic  in  proportion 
to  the  tenacity  with  which  it  has  been  resisted  and  denied.  No 
one,  more  highly  than  myself,  esteems  the  claims  of  social  caste. 
It  is  a  natural  condition,  and  rightly  possesses  authority  ;  but, 
God  forbid  !  that  I  should  sullenly  and  sternly  reject  the  occa 
sional  individual,  whose  personal  claims  put  him  above  his  con 
dition  in  society !  He  has  received  from  nature  his  badges  of 
nobility,  and  society  is  simply  ridiculous  when  it  opposes  itself 
to  the  credentials  which  come  patent  from  the  hands  of  God 
himself!  Be  assured  that,  in  all  such  conflicts,  the  class  refu 
sing  to  acknowledge  the  individual  only  proves  itself  unworthy, 
and  perils  all  the  securities  upon  which  it  prides  itself." 

"And  is  this  young  lady  so  attractive  —  so  refined  and  intel- 
^lectual,  Willie?" 

"I  am  a  lover,  Carrie,  you  know,  and  may  be  held  to  be 
somewhat  blind,  and  somewhat  extravagant ;  but,  making  all 
allowance,  for  that  amiable  insanity  which  sees  nothing  but 
perfection  in  the  creature  whom  it  loves,  I  am  free  to  declare 
that  I  hold  Bertha  Travis  to  be  one  of  the  most  gentle,  pure, 
refined,  and  beautiful  creatures  that  was  ever  born  under  the 
blessed  vault  of  heaven  !" 

L     Carrie  took   the  hand  of  her   brother   into  her   own,  and. 
smiling  sweetly,  sai<3  — 


88  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  How  I  long  to  see  and  know  her !  Bertha !  It  is  a  pretty 
but  an  unfamiliar  name.  It  is  a  pity,  if  one  so  beautiful,  gentle, 
and  well-endowed,  should  be  scorned  because  of  her  family." 

•'  She  shall  not  be  scorned,  Carrie,  by  me,  or  by  any  whose 
respect  I  can  compel,"  answered  the  major  of  dragoons,  with 
the  air  uf  a  man  who  had  long  been  exercised  in  the  freedom 
of  a  perfect  will.  He  continued  — 

"  I  am  sorry  that  the  matter  has  been  prematurely  broken  to 
my  father.  This  is  not  the  time  for  it.  And  why  Captain 
Travis  should  have  broached  it,  just  now,  I  can  not  so  well 
divine.  He  had  not  only  no  authority  from  me  to  speak  of  it, 
but  I  have  never  once  spoken  with  him  about  it ;  indeed,  be 
tween  the  father  and  myself  there  has  been  no -cordial  intimacy 
But  he  is  a  shrewd  politician,  and  there  are  signs  in  the  horizon 
for  which  I  suppose  him  to  be  preparing.  There  are,  indeed; 
certain  influences  acting  upon  him,  which  he  either  can  not  re 
sist,  or  the  conflict  with  which  he  would  escape.  He  would,  I 
fancy,  cheerfully  ally  himself  with  our  family,  in  the  hope  to 
acquire  equal  position  and  security.  This  movement  proves 
that  he  sees  the  decline  of  the  British  power !" 

"  Father  spoke  of  him  as  one  who  really  cared  nothing  for 
either  party,  or  as  inclining  rather  to  the  American  cause,  but 
driving  a  good  trade  under  favor  of  the  British." 

"  I  believe  it ;  and  the  question  with  him  now,  is,  under 
which  play  can  he  be  most  secure,  while  realizing  the  most 
pi-Dfits  1  The  question  leads  to  other  influences,  which  do  not 
leave  him  quite  as  free  as  he  could  wish  to  be.  He  has  some 
entanglements  —  has  some  dangerous  secrets  abroad  in  other 
hands  —  and  there  is  one  whom  he  well  knows  would  sacrifice 
him  without  scruple,  and  destroy  him  with  the  British,  unless 
he  can  pacify  him.  This  person  is  my  danger  also  —  my  black 
dog,  that  haunts  me  with  a  fear.  In  brief,  Carrie,  this  person 
is  my  rival  S" 

"  Ah  !  for  the  affections  of  Bertha  ?" 

"  Precisely !  And  you  can  now  conjecture  the  motive  of 
Captain  Travis  in  broaching  to  my  father  the  subject  of  an  alii 
ance  with  his  house." 

"  I  do  not  see,  Willie." 

"  Simply,  then,  there  is  a  certain  Richard  Inglehardt,  a  cap- 


CUPID   AND   CUPIDITY.  89 

tain  of  loyalists,  who  is  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Bertha.  Cap 
tain  Travis  would  rather  that  she  should  ally  herself  with  our 
family  than  with  his,  since  his  origin  is  rather  humble.  But 
Inglehardt  has,  I  suspect,  found  the  secret  of  Travis's  dealings 
with  both  parties.  The  positive  rejection  of  his  suit,  by  Tra 
vis,  would  lead  to  the  ruin  of  the  latter.  To  save  himself,  he 
would  unite  with  our  people,  if  we  would  guaranty  him  pro 
tection.  An  alliance  with  me,  he  thinks,  would  secure  it  for 
him.  To  arrange  for  this  object,  has  been,  I  suspect,  the  cause 
of  his  visit  to  my  father.  He  has  wished  to  sound  and  feel  his 
way.  He  is  eminently  cautious  and  cunning.  What  he  has 
said  I  can  only  conjecture ;  but,  in  all  probability,  not  suspect 
ing  my  father's  loyalty,  or  the  intensity  of  it,  he  has  too  freely 
shown  his  hand  ;  an  indiscretion  to  which  my  father's  reserved 
demeanor  —  the  consequence  of  his  dislike  for  the  man  —  nas 
probably  driven  him.  Now,  Travis  sees,  as  well  as  anybody, 
the  precarious  condition  of  British  power  in  the  country.  He 
is  preparing  accordingly.  He  has  shown  his  opinions,  on  this 
subject,  to  my  father,  who,  of  course,  thinks  nothing  of  the  kind  ; 
and  the  result  has  been  the  explosion  which  you  heard. 

"And  this  Richard  Inglehardl;  what  sort  of  person  is  he  ? 
Have  you  any  reason  to  think  that  Bertha " 

She  paused.  The  question  she  was  about  to  ask  might  be  a 
disquieting,  as  it  was  a  delicate  one. 

"  Ah  !  my  black  dog  !  Well,  let  me  do  the  scoundrel  justice. 
He  is  a  scoundrel,  but  one  whom  you  must  respect  for  the 
strength  that  is  in  him.  He  is  a  good-looking  fellow ;  dark  of 
feature,  with  long,  wild,  black  hair,  glossy  and  rich ;  eyes  in 
tensely  keen  and  piercing,  but  of  icy  coldness ;  of  good,  well- 
made  figure,  and  graceful ;  quiet  and  subdued  of  manner  ;  slow 
and  circumspect;  mild  and  amiable  of  demeanor;  but  savage, 
selfish,  of  a  bloody  recklessness  of  mood,  who  keeps  no  faith 
with  any  when  his  own  policy  seems  to  counsel  falsehood,  and 
one  who  is  as  tenacious  of  pursuit  as  the  devil  of  his  victim. 
Mentally,  he  is  shrewd,  quick,  keen,  and  though  but  imperfect 
ly  educated,  yet  ready  and  intelligent.  He  is  a  person  whose 
hostility  compels  great  caution,  if  not  fear.  He  is  a  good  sol 
dier,  commands  a  smart  company  of  rangers,  and  is  brave 
enough,  and  bold  enough,  whenever  he  finds  his  profit  in  it 


90  THK    FORAYERS. 

He  Las  known  Bertlm  Travis  from  childhood.  His  father  was 
a  small  Dutch  farmer  in  the  same  neighborhood." 

"Truly,  Willie,  a  formidable  rival.  But  shc--Bertha  — 
how  does  she  like  him  ?  Does  she  incline  to  cither,  Willie  ?" 

"  Ah  !  Carrie,  you  will  know  it  all,  I  see  !  Well,  then,  I 
may  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that  I  have  no  longer  cause  to  feat 
with  her.  She  is  mine,  Carrie  —  mine!" 

And  Carrie  laughed  delightedly,  as  she  again  flung  her  arms 
round  her  brother's  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

"And  now,  Carrie,  let  me  throw  myself  upon  your  bed,  and 
snatch  a  couple  of  hours'  sleep.  That  will  suffice,  and  bring  us 
to  your  breakfast-hour.  I  have  much  more  to  tell  you,  but 
must  not  begin  now.  I  must  sleep,  child,  now,  or  I  shall  be 
only  half  able  to  do  the  work  that  is  before  me.  See  that  you 
K?ep  fast  the  door,  and,  for  the  present,  keep  as  secret  as  possi 
ble  the  tact  that  I  am  here.  Much  depends  on  it.' 


FAITH    AND    BREAKFAST.  91 


CHAPTER   IX. 

FAITH    AND    BREAKFAST. 

FOR  two  hours  exactly,  did  Willie  Sinclair  sleep.  He  waa 
trapped  in  slumber  as  soon  as  he  had  laid  himself  down,  and 
awoke  at  the  designated  time  of  limitation.  Such  is  the  result 
of  military  habit.  Sleep  when  you  can,  and  wake  alwavs 
when  you  will !  Carrie  was  absent  when  he  awakened,  and  he 
had  time  to  perform  his  ablutions  before  she  reappeared.  At 
her  return  it  was  very  natural  that  she  should  resume  the  sub 
ject  of  his  wooing,  and  of  the  damsel  he  had  won.  When  was 
a  little  bit  of  domestic  history,  having  for  its  theme  a  love  bur 
den,  ever  an  ungrateful  subject  in  youthful  ears  ?  But,in  Car 
rie  Sinclair's  case,  it  was  the  curiosity  of  a  loving  sister  that 
sought  for  his  secret,  and  not  an  idle  brain,  or  a  silly  fancy  ;  and 
she  welcomed  all  his  confidences  with  a  genial  love.  The  nat 
ural  satisfaction,  nay,  exultation,  which  he  had  displayed  in  re 
vealing  his  triumph,  in  the  story  of  his  successful  wooing,  was 
fondly  encountered  by  the  sympathies  of  his  sister.  Carrie 
Sinclair  had  no  such  prejudices  as  filled  her  father's  bosom, 
against  the  caste  of  the  family  in  which  her  brother  found  his 
sweetheart.  At  all  events,  her  prejudices  were  not  deep-rooted, 
and  constituted  a  sentiment  rather  than  a  feeling  or  a  principle. 
She  readily  believed  that  the  lady  whom  Willie  had  chosen  was 
worthy  to  be  her  sister ;  and  all  the  social  barriers  which  she 
fancied  had  really  existed  between  her  family  and  that  into 
which  he  proposed  to  marry,  were  dissipated  by  a  breath.  She 
took  Willie's  hand  into  her  own,  and  pressing  it  fondly,  ex 
claimed  :  — 

"  I  must  know  her,  Willie.  I  feel  that  I  shall  love  her  very 
much.  How  can  I  else  than  love  the  woman  whom  you  love? 
But  it  will  be  a  long  struggle  before  you  can  overcome  the 
prejudices  of  papa.  You  don't  know  how  angry  the  report 


\)2  THE   FORAYERfc). 

made  him ,  how  bitterly  lie  spoke  of  Bertha,  and  you,  and  Cap 
tain  Travis.  He  has  such  a  bad  opinion  of  him,  that  1  fear  it 
will  be  impossible  to  reconcile  him  to  the  match." 

"  Never  you  fear,  Carrie  !  Our  good  father  is  violent  rather 
than  steadfast.  He  blazes  out  into  a  passion,  yet  very  soon  for 
gets  the  passion  ;  and  where  a  passion  is  unreasonable,  or  where 
it  is  founded  on  an  error,  it  is  very  apt  to  burn  out  very  soon  in 
such  a  nature  as  his.  Besides,  when  he  once  knows  Bertha " 

"  But  bow  is  he  to  know  her,  Willie  ?  How  are  we  to 
Mieet  I 

"  The  world1  is  always  in  motion,  Carrie,  and  opportunity 
stands  at  every  man's  elbow,  sometime  or  other.  You  don't 
suppose  'this  war  is  to  last  for  ever,  Carrie  ]" 

•'I  don't  know.  It  seems  so,  Willie!  New  troops  from 
England,  and — — " 

"  The  war  is  nearly  burnt  out  now.  These  new  troops  are 
all  that  England  has  to  send;  and  these  are  Irish  wholly, 
whom  the  officers  here  can  hardly  trust  !  The  English  people 
are  even  more  tired  of  the  war  than  we.  It  has  exhausted 
them ;  and  they  now  feel,  what  they  could  not  see,&t  the  begin 
ning  of  the  conflict,  that  what  they  might  have  gained  by  pre 
venting  our  Independence,  is  more  than  balanced  by  what  they 
lose  in  the  sacrifice  of  our  trade.  I  doubt  if  the  war  can  last 
another  year.  It  would  require  some  time  to  explain  to  you 
why  I  think  so,  and  this  is  not  necessary.  Besides,  I  have 
other  matters  to  tell  about,  of  more  immediate  interest.  I  have 
not  told  you,  Carrie,  that  I  have  been  chased  hither  this  morn 
ing." 

"  Chased,  Willie,  by  whom  1" 

"  By  some  of  the  most  blood-thirsty  ruffians  of  all  the  refugee 
tories  in  the  country.  I  was  at  Pete  Blodgit's  last  night.  I 
have  found  that  scoundrel  out !  He  has  been  robbing  us  at  a 
fearful  rate;  forgetting  all  his  obligation  to  us;  was  selling  ev 
erything,  and  hiding  away  the  money  !  But  I  made  the  rogue 
disgorge  ;  and,  but  that  I  was  vigilant,  I  might  have  been 
brained  with  a  billet  for  my  pains." 

"  Impossible !  What,  Blodgit,  for  whom  we  have  done  so 
much  !  —  whose  mother  we  have  fed,  and  nursed,  and  provided 
for,  as  one  of  our  own  fam»lv  V 


FAITH   AND   BKEAKFAST.  93 

"Ay,  and  who  would  have  requited  us,  for  all,  after  a  very  Chris- 
tian  fashion,  by  counseling  her  hopeful  son  to  cut  my  throat !  I  have 
found  them  both  out. " 

Here  he  told  the  much-wondering  damsel  all  the  story  as  it  is 
already  known  to  us.  At  the  close,  he  laid  before  her  the  gold,  the 
sight  of  which  had  proven  so  fatal  to  the  virtues  of  Dame  Blodgit 
and  her  son. 

"Half  of  the  gold  is  yours,  Carrie." 

"  Keep  it,  Willie.     I  have  no  use  for  it." 

"  No  !  Do  you  keep  it ;  and  should  /have  use  for  it,  I  will  know 
where  to  look.  Keep  secret  that  you  have  it,  for  the  possession  of 
gold  is  a  rare  danger  at  this  juncture  ;  particularly  as  the  Barony  is 
so  poorly  guarded  j  —  my  father  laid  up  with  gout,  and  myself 
absent !  There  are  little  squads  of  scoundrels  all  about  the  country, 
who  will  attempt  anything  desperate  with  such  a  temptation  in  their 
eyes.  Our  father's  relations  with  the  British  secure  him  with  them, 
while  my  connection  with  our  side  affords  him  similar  security 
with  us.  But  the  refugees,  Whig  and  Tory,  are  not  to  be  restrained 
by  either  party,  when  they  find  an  opportunity  for  plunder ; 
and  your  best  security  now,  is  to  conceal  all  objects  of  temp 
tation." 

"  They  are  plundering  us  now." 

"Of  cattle,  I  know  ;  but  this  must  be  endured.  In  fact,  I  shall 
have  to  do  a  little  of  this  business  of  cattle  plundering  upon  the 
Barony,  myself.  But  say  nothing  on  this  head— I  do  not  know, 
indeed,  but  that  your  recent  losses  have  been  by  our  own  people. 
At  present,  however,  it  is  just  as  well  that  our  father  should  suppose 
the  diminution  of  his  fat  steers  to  be  due  altogether  to  the  friendly  • 
aid  of  his  loyalist  connections.  And  now,  Carrie,  better  see  to 
your  house  affairs.  It  is  time  for  our  father  to  be  stirring.  See 
to  him  and  leave  me  here.  Keep  from  him  the  fact  that  I  am  here 
—for  the  present,  at  least.  I  suppose  it  not  likely  that  he  will  ask 
after  me." 

"  He  speaks  of  you  often  enough,  Willie." 

"  Bat  not  lovingly,  Carrie." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  for  he  speaks  angrily." 

"Ah!  then  there  is  hope." 

'  Oh !   yes,  Willie  ;  let  the  war  but  end,  and  all  will  be  for 
gotten." 


94  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  Ah  !  indeed  !  And  he  chuckles  with  the  idea  that  his  in 
terposition  then  will  alone  save  me  from  the  gallows;  and  this 
he  fancies,  will  bring  me  to  my  knees !  He  dreams  still  as 
fondly  as  ever  of  the  final  triumph  of  the  king  ?" 

"  That  he  does  ;  and  you  would  he  surprised  to  hear  him  argue 
it  out  and  prove  it.  To  hear  him  first,  and  you  afterward,  I  am  left 
in  a  condition  of  perfect  bewilderment.  You  are  both  so  equally 
certain,  and  so  satisfactory,  that  I  believe  neither  of  you.  Not 
knowing  where  to  steer,  I  am  thus  kept  afloat,  like  a  ship  under 
opposing  winds,  sent  to  and  fro,  and  never  finding  port  or  rest." 
The  major  of  dragoons  laughed. 

"Drop  anchor,  then,  and  take  in  sail,  and  let  the  winds  ex 
haust  themselves  against  each  other.  I  shall  see  our  father  be 
fore  I  depart ;  that  is,  if  I  observe  anything  to  encourage  me  to 
seek  an  interview  ;  and  then  you  may  judge  for  yourself  as  to 
he  respective  force  of  the  opposing  currents.  Meanwhile, 
that  I  may  be  justified  for  not  showing  myself  just  yet,  you  are 
to  remember  that  these  refugees  are  about  the  premises.  That 
sneaking  scoundrel  Blodgit  is  with  them,  no  doubt;  and  he 
knows  the  place  too  well  not  to  render  it  highly  probable  that 
he  will  be  prying  about.  I  wish  them  to  remain  in  doubt  as  to 
my  presence  here.  This  will  cause  delay,  and  keep  them  in 
the  precinct." 

"And  why  do  you  wish  that,  Willie  ?" 

"  For  a  reason,  Carrie,  in  which  you,  I  fancy,  have  a  certain 
interest.  I  look  to  see  Peyre  St  Julien  here,  in  twelve  hours! 
Bless  me,  Carrie,  child,  how  your  face  reddens !" 

"  And  why  should  my  face  redden,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 
"  Nay,  that's  what  Td  like  to  know  !     Explain  !" 
"  Really,  Willie,  you  are  looking  monstrous  wise  of  a  sudden." 
"  And  you  monstrous  foolish  !     Fie,  fie,  Carrie,  to  try  to  keep 
Eiich  a  secret  from  your  brother,  from  your  own  Willie,  who  has 
always  opened  his  heart  to  you,  the  moment  he  became  con 
scious  of  having  a  single  sensation  in  it."    He  had  forgotten  his 
own  secret,  and  she  was  too  much  flurried  to  think  of  the  obvi 
ous  retort. 

"  Oh  !  Willie,  I  have  never  shut  mine  against  you  !     Only — " 
"  Only  in  this  instance,  Carrie,  when  the  bird  you  had  cage<i 
;n  it  was  quite  too  precious  to  be  exposed  to  any  eyes." 


FAITH    AND    BREAKFAST.  9£ 

«  No  !  no  !  brother  !  It  was  I  that  told  Peyre  +o  tell  you  alii 
I  did,  indeed,  Willie." 

"  Go  !  go  !  You  are  a  foolish  child  !  And  why  should  you 
not  have  told  me  all  yourself!" 

"I  don't  know;  I  tried  to  do  so  when  we  parted  last,  but 
somehow — " 

"  Your  heart  failed  you !  Well,  I  suppose  you  have  not  ven 
tured  to  be  more  communicative  with  our  father  than  with  me. 
He  does  not  know  how  greatly  Peyre  St.  Julicn  wishes  to  soar, 
docs  he  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !     How  could  I  tell  him  ?" 

"Ah!  Carrie!  what  a  cruel  fate  is  ours!  That  we  should 
both  run  counter  to  all  our  papa's  wishes.  Thai  we  should 
both  love  where  lie  would  prefer  to  hate.  That  we  should  do 
those  things  that,  in  his  creed,  we  are  criminal  to  do;  and  leave 
those  things  undone  which  he  holds  essential  to  his  proper  re 
ligion  !  What  an  explosion  there  will  be  when  he  finds  out 
your  secret.  Mine  was  nothing  to  it;  for  you  were  always 
his  pet,  Carrie;  the  apple  of  his  eye  —  so  perfect  too  —  ha!  ha! 
ha  !  Poor  Carrie,  when  he  finds  you  out !" 
"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  it,  Willie;  pray  don't." 
"  How  demure  it  makes  you  look  !" 

"  Yes,  Willie,  it  makes  me  very  sad  !  to  think  how  well  he 
loves  me,  and  that  I  dare  not  tell  him  all." 

He  took  her  proudly  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
"  5e  °f  g00^  cheer,  Carrie  !  all  will  come  right,  HAVQ faith, 
child —  what's  love  without  faith  and  will?  I  have  both.  I 
love,  and  nothing  doubt  that  T  shall  get  the  woman  whom  I 
love  !  True,  there  are  impediments,  but  I  will  overcome  them  ; 
rivals,  but  I  will  foil  them  ;  hostile  papas,  but  I  will  soothe 
them.  I  may  have  to  fight  for  my  wife,  and  I  mean  to  do  it,  as 
soon  as  the  necessity  shows  itself  for  fight !  But,  this  is  one  of 
the,  very  groundworks  of  my  faith.  It  is  assured,  by  my  own 
will  to  do  all  that  is  essential  to  the  acquisition  of  its  object ! 
and  I  will  fight  for  your  little  heart  too,  my  Carrie,  so  never  de 
epond  !  Have  faith,  child,— and,  away  now  and  see  after  your 
papa's  and  your  brother's  breakfast." 

"But  when,  Willie   do  you  say,  that  St.  Julien  is  coming?'5 
asked  Carrie,  as  she  peeped  obliquely  at  *he  mirror. 


96  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Oli !  you  shall  have  ample  time  to  make  your  toilet.  Get 
you  gone  now,  before  the  old  man  grows  impatient." 

The  damsel  disappeared.  The  brother  remained  alone.  He 
seized  the  occasion  to  attend  to  his  own  toilet ;  a  duty  which  he 
found  very  grateful  of  performance.  This  done,  he  was  joined 
suddenly  by  our  quondam  friend,  Little  Peter,  who  opened  the 
door  cautiously,  but  without  hesitation,  and  appeared,  bringing 
in  a  covered  basket,  the  contents  of  which,  smuggled  from  tit 
pantry,  made  the  sufficient  and  palatable  breakfast  for  our  ma 
jor  of  dragoons. 

"  Breck'us,  Mass  Willie,"  said  Little  Peter.  Sinclair  laughed 
out  to  see  the  disproportion  between  the  large  negro  and  the  little 
basket :  —  the  giant  doing  the  duty  of  the  dwarf.  Peter  laughed, 
also,  from  sympathy,  never  once  suspecting  the  occasion  of  his 
young  master's  merriment. 

"  Peter,  you  must  find  that  basket  very  heavy." 

"  No  heabby  'tall,  Mass  Willie.     Chile  kin  carry  'em." 

Then,  as  the  fellow  caught  the  glance  of  his  master's  eye,  he 
understood  the  ridicule,  and,  setting  down  the  basket  hurriedly, 
as  if  it  were  a  snake,  he  forced  himself  into  a  second  chuckle. 

"  And  how's  your  master  this  morning,  Peter  ?" 

"  Hah,  Mass  Willie  !  —  ole  maussa  hab  de  fire  in  he  foot.  He's 
in  berry  bad  sperrits  dis  morning — kin  do  not'ing  but  cuss  and 
eat !" 

"  He  has  an  appetite  then,  Peter  ?" 

"  Always  kin  eat  when  he  cuss  !  He  eat  and  cuss ;  and  ha 
dunno  how  much  he  eat  and  cuss !" 

"  You  ought  to  tell  him,  Peter." 

"  Ki !  Mass  Willie ;  me  tell  ole  maussa,  how  much  he  cuss 
and  eat !"  And  the  negro  laughed  fairly  at  the  insanity  of  the 
suggestion. 

"  Well,  Peter,  let  ur,  see  what  you  have  for  breakfast ;  for  I 
too,  have  an  appetite.  Spread  out  your  commodities,  and  clear 
out.  You  will  be  wanted  behind  your  master's  chair  whenever 
he  feels  the  necessity  to  swear  !" 

Peter  grinned  imderstandingly,  as  he  obeyed  the  order  to 
spread  out  the  breakfast ;  then  made  a  respectful  bow,  as  say 
ing,  "  all's  ready  ;"  but  still  lingered.  Sinclair  knew  by  this 
that  he  waited  for  more  last  words. 


FAITH    AND   BREAKFAST.  97 

"  Well,  Peter,  what  would  you  say  T ' 

"Benny  Bowlegs  say  I  mus'tell  you,  dere'stwo,  free,  seben, 
fibe,  strange  white  men  bin  by  de  aVnue  gate.  He  look  like 
poor  buckrah  and  cattle-tief.  He  bin  day  dis  morning,  but  he 
gone.  Benny  Bowlegs  tell  me,  for  tell  you,  dat  he  mus'hab 
some  talk  wicl  you  when  you  done  you  breck'us." 

"  It  must  be  here,  then,  Peter.  Tell  Benny  to  find  some  ex 
cuse  for  coming  to  me  here,  and  to  come  as  soon  as  he  pleases." 

"Oh  !  him  kin  come.  I  tell  em  :"— and,  pulling  at  his  wool- 
tiifl,  and  scraping  with  his  foot  upon  the  floor,  Little  Peter  dis 
appeared.  He  had  scarcely  gone,  when  Benny  Bowlego,  7,ot 
waiting  the  permission  he  had  solicited,  entered  the  chamber 
also.  He  brought  with  him  the  holsters  of  his  young  master, 
wrapped  up  in  the  fragment  of  a  blanket. 

"I  tink,  Mass  Willie,"  said  he,  "  dat  you  better  hab  dese 
little  bullpups  yer,  onder  you  own  ban'.  Dere's  no  telling  how 
soon  you  may  want  'em.  De  swode  is  good  'nough,  when  you 
hab  dem  tory  in  chopping  reach,  but  de  pups  kin  keep  guard  on 
door  and  winder." 

"  What  have  you  seen  or  heard,  Benny  ?" 

"  I  sec,  Mass  Willie !  I  hab  sight  ob  Hell-fire  Dick,  and 
two,  free,  sebben,  fibe,  udder  hog  and  cattle  tief,  ;.own 
by  the  ab'mie  gate.  I  'speck  day  must  ha'  bin  see  me  to,,  ,":r 
soon  day  gone  clean  out  ob  sight.  I  reckon  day's  all  now  cob 
ber  up  in  de  woods  below.  Day's  a  watching,  Mass  W-u'e. 
Day's  arter  mischief  dis  mawning  !" 

"  Did  you  see  Pete  Blodgit  among  them  ?" 
"  I  nebber  mek'  out  dat  pusson  ;  but  I  reckon  he's  jus'  like  de 
buzzard,  always  hab  a  nose  Avhen  der's  a  bullock  to  be  skin  and 
clean." 

"  Exactly  !  Keep  a  look  out  for  him !  Remember,  above 
all  things,  that  he  is  not  to  have  a  notion  that  I  am  here  !  He 
must  not  see  my  horse,  or  saddle,  or  bridle,  or  any  thing  that  he 
will  know  as  mine,  And  should  he  appear  on  the  place,  do 
you,  or  Little  Peter,  keep  an  eye  on  him  all  the  while  he  is 
here;  watch  all  his  motions;  and,  should  you  see  that  he 
discovers  anything,  clap  hands  on  him  at  once,  rope  him,  and 
hide  him  away  !  Much  depends  on  our  blinding  fo'seyes,  Ben 


ny." 


98  THE   FORAYERS. 

"I'd  raMer  bung  'ein  up  fair,  right  away  !"  said  the  trucu 
lent  Benny  Bowlegs,  showing  his  enormous  double  fist,  by  way 
of  indicating  the  modus  operandA  in  such  a  performance. 

"  Well,  you  need  not  mince  matters  with  such  a  scoundrel : 
only  see  that  he  makes  no  discoveries,  and,  should  yon  suspect 
him  of  any,  then  instantly  rope  and  lock  him  up  ;  but  rot  other 
wise." 

"  Leff  'em  to  me,  Mass  Willie.  I  knows  how  to  manage  da 
v/arramL  Don't  you  t'ink,  Mass  Willie,  you  better  hab  a  pomr 
o-  ''.vo  ob  dem  powder  and  bullet  you  bring,  yer  in  de  house.*' 

'Why,  old  follow,  you  don't  think  we're  to  have  a  siege  V1 
"  I  don'  know,  Mass  Willie,  but  when  Hell-fire  Dick's  about, 
and  hab  free,    sebben,  fibe  pussons  wid  'em,  and  dor's  no  sod- 
gers,  red  coats  or  blue,  anywhar,  in  these  parts,  I  reckon  it's 
iest  as  well  to  be  ready  for  de  rapscallions." 
"  You  are  right,  perhaps,  Benny." 
"  I  knoivs  I'm  right." 

"  Well,  do  as  you  please ;  but  do  not  let  your  movements  be 
seen  or  suspected." 

Benny's  only  answer  to  this  caution,  consisted  in  lifting  his 
forefinger  to  his  left  eye,  and  drawing  down  the  lower  lid.  The 
action  said  as  clearly  as  words  could  have  done  :  — 

"  Noting  green  yer,  maussa."  Benny's  experience  and  suc 
cesses  had  been  such,  that  nobody  suspected  him  of  an  unwise 
vanity  when  he  asserted  his  own  wisdom  and  sagacity. 

The  interview  ceased  at  this  moment,  and  Benny  disappear 
ed,  walking  with  singular  erectness,  like  a  well-drilled  grena 
dier  on  parade.  His  ancient  war  spirit  was  returning  fast. 

Willie  Sinclair  was  just  finishing  a  formidable  breakfast, 
when  his  sister  Carrie  reappeared  ;  — little  Lottie  remaining 
with  her  father  in  the  breakfast-room.  Leaving  brother  and 
sister  to  a  long  conversation,  of  much  mutual  interest  to  them 
selves  but  none  to  us,  let  us  now  go  forth,  and  see  what  prog 
ress  has  been  made  by  our  ruffianly  acquaintances,  wh:  m  we 
left  in  hot  pursuit  last  night. 


TBffi   OU1LAW8   IN   COUNCIL. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    OUTLAWS    IN    COUNCIL. 

IT  is  apt  to  irritate  the  very  best  of  people  to  be  defeated  in 
their  calculations,  to  be  disappointed  in  pleasant  aims,  and  to 
find  themselves  baffled  in  properly-planned  performances.  The 
passions  of  our  banditti,  headed  by  All-fire  Dick,  are  not  of  a 
sort  to  make  them  more  placable  than  persons  less  ambitious 
ly  disposed.  But  we  are  not  yet  to  speak  of  them  as  being  dis 
appointed  of  their  prey.  They  had  not,  it  is  true,  run  down 
the  fugitive,  Sinclair,  with  his  sack  of  guineas,  to  say  nothing 
of  those  rolls  of  dingy  continental  money,  which  had  been  so 
painfully  wrested  from  the  keeping  of  Master  Pete  Blodgit 
But,  it  was  not  supposed,  by  the  most  confident  among  them, 
that  they  would  exactly  run  him  down.  They  knew  him  to  be 
something  of  the  old  soldier  —  very  cool,  brave,  and  crammed 
full  with  the  lessons  of  experience.  That  they  should  be  able 
to  out-travel  him,  they  knew ;  but,  that  he  should  suffer  them  to 
come  up  with  him,  on  the  high-road,  was  not  a  part  of  their  cal 
culations.  The  thing  was  possible  surely  ;  since  a  sleepy  man. 
exhausted  with  fatigue,  soaked  with  rain,  suffering  with  hunger, 
is  apt  to  be  blind  and  deaf,  particularly  of  a  dark  night.  There 
fore,  he  might  have  been  "  overslaughed"  as  he  nodded  onward, 
drowsing  on  his  steed.  "  But  this  was  simply  a  something  on  the 
bare  skirts  of  possibility,  and  formed  but  an  humble  feature 
among  the  calculations  of  our  banditti. 

To  get  ahead  of  the  fugitive,  cut  him  off  from  the  Barony, 
then  scour  the  woods  below,  in  which  he  would  be  supposed  to 
take  shelter,  and  pick  up  their  prey  almost  at  their  pleasure, 
this  was  their  calculation ;  and  a  very  good  one  too,  had  they 
been  dealing  with  a  timid  man,  or  one  wanting  in  experience 
and  resources.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  they  were  defeated  by  a 


100  THE 

very  simple  expedient ;  and,  by  the  way,  none  but  simple  ex 
pedients  are  likely  to  be  successful  in  moments  of  emergency. 

But  our  banditti  were  not  as  yet  to  know  that  they  had  been 
defeated.  They  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  our  major  of 
dragoons  was  not  somewhere  in  the  woods  below.  They  were 
aware,  of  course,  that  there  was  a  possibility  that  he  had  made 
such  headway  as  to  reach  "  the  Barony"  before  themselves 
since  they  knew  not,  exactly,  at  what  moment  he  had  fled  from 
the  stable-loft  of  Blodgit ;  nor  could  they  measure  the  paces  of 
his  horse,  except  by  some  general  estimate  of  his  powers  after  a 
hard  day's  ride.  Still,  when  they  had  attained  the  point  at 
which  they  aimed,  there  was  some  feeling  of  disappointment, 
that  they  had  not  found  some  proofs  by  which  to  determine  the 
question  of  his  whereabouts. 

In  the  cool  of  the  morning  hours,  and  before  the  dawn,  we 
find  them  assembled,  accordingly,  in  close  proximity  with  the 
avenue  leading  to  the  mansion-house  and  settlements  of  Colonel 
Sinclair.  They  had  skirted  the  avenue  and  fences,  which  cut 
off  the  cultivated  fields  from  the  natural  forests.  They  had  put 
themselves  in  such  a  position,  along  this  line,  as  would  discour 
age  any  but  a  desperate  attempt,  on  the  part  of  the  fugitive,  to 
make  his  passage  upward.  A  bold  man,  they  well  knew,  might 
attempt  and  do  it,  provided  he  were  near  enough  ;  for  they  were 
too  few  in  number  to  make  the  cordon  perfect :  but  they  relied 
on  luck,  their  own  agility,  and  the  fact  that  the  fugitive  could 
not  well  know  where  they  had  severally  disposed  themselves. 
This  done,  there  was  a  consultation. 

Now,  a  consultation,  whether  in  war  or  physic,  is  apt  to  pro 
duce  a  confusion  of  tongues;  and  our  banditti,  though  some 
what  coerced  by  the  terrible  authority  maintained  by  All-fire 
Dick,  was  yet  a  free-spoken  body,  and  there  were  some  of  the 
members  who  would  always  cavil  even  when  compelled  to  sub 
mit. 

"  We've  lost  him,  I  reckon,"  said  "  Skin-the-Serpent,"  with 
an  oath  and  growl ;  "  and  may  as  well  hang  up  our  fiddles  for 
all  the  good  that'll  come  of  playing  out  of  tune." 

"  Lost  h-11 !"  roared  All-fire  Dick.  "  What  did  you  expect  ? 
Did  you  reckon  he'd  stand,  and  let  us  ride  him  down  on  the  open 
track  1  Didn't  we  know  that  he'd  take  to  the  woods  ?" 


THE   OUTLAWS   IN   COUNCIL.  101 


"But  how  do  we  kiiDw  that  he's  taken  to  the  woods?  How 
do  we  know  that  he  ain't  safely  housed  at  the  Barony  at  this 
very  moment?" 

"  How  do  we  know  anything  but  by  finding-  out  ?  We've 
got  to  find  out  ;  that's  all  !  But  whether  he's  in  the  woods,  or 
in  the  house,  either  way,  I  reckon,  we've  got  him  !" 

"  Got  him  !     I  don't  see." 

"  What  are  your  eyes  good  for,  I  wonder  ?  For  a  fellow 
that  knows  how  to  use  cold  steel,  I  reckon,  Skin-the-Sarpent. 
you're  about  the  most  bull-headed  of  all  the  blind  cattle  I 
know!" 

"  Well,  Dick,  let's  hear  what  you're  good  for  !  What  are 
you  going  to  do  ?"  ^ 

"  There'd  be  no  difficulty  ef  we  had  men  enough,  and  men  of 
the  right  kind.  But  what's  to  be  done  with  fellows  that  begin 
the  fight  by  dropping  their  tails?  That's  not  the  way  to*do 
anything  !  When  I  hear  a  man  say,  •  It's  no  use  to  try,'  I'm. 
for  knocking  him  on  the  head  at  once;  bekaise,  I  know,  a  man 
that  sets  out  with  that  sort  of  sperrit,  never  does  try  with  the 
whole  heart  of  a  man  !  What  I  wants  of  them  that  goes  with 
me,  is  never  to  think  it  possible  for  the  game  to  go  agin  us,  tell 
he  sees  the  stakes  cleaned  up  and  gone  !  A  man  musn't  even 
believe  he's  dead,  tell  he  feels  the  scalp  off,  and  kain't  lift  a 
leg  to  kick.  Now,  in  this  business,  I'll  tell  you  what's  to  be 
done.  Ralph  Brunson  must  start  off,  right  away,  for  Zeke  Rod- 
gers  and  his  dogs.  He's  not  quite  five  miles  off.  May  be,  he'll 
find  some  of  our  fellows  thar  besides.  We  don't  want  but  a 
couple  here;  for  it's  no  use  having  too  many  to  set  down  to  a 
small  dinner.  But  we  must  have  Zeke,  and  his  dogs,  and  a 
man  or  two  more,  ef  he's  got  'em  with  him.  Meantime,  we 
must  skairt  the  avenue,  and  keep  a  lookout  on  all  the  cros 
sings  !" 

"  But,  what  ef  we  could  find  out  ef  Major  Sinclair  hes  got  to 
the  Barony  ?"  said  Skin-the-Serpent. 

"  Find  out  ef  you  kin  !  I  don't  see  how  you're  to  set  about 
it,  onless  we  had  a  man  to  spare  to  send  in,  as  a  traveller,  with 
orders  to  look  about  him  with  a  snake's  eye,  and  see  what's  to 
he  seen  under  the  table.  But  we  ain't  half  strong  enough  now, 
to  watch  the  avenue  and  road  rightly,  or  I'd  send  Joe  Best. 


[02  THE   FORAYEBS. 

'Twill  take  tlie  wlnle  four  of  us,  miglity  sharp-sighted  and  spry 
too,  to  kiver  the  roads,  and  watch  the  crossings." 

At  that  moment,  who  should  pop  into  the  midst  of  the  circle, 
but  our  amiable  overseer,  Master  Pete  Blodgit.  He  wore  the 
most  smiling  face  in  the  world,  had  heard  every  syllable  that 
had  been  said,  and  had  conceived  the  idea  of  making  himself 
commendable  to  the  outlaws,  by  volunteering  to  visit  Zeke 
Rodgers,  leaving  Ralph  Branson  to  add  to  the  resources  of  the 
party,  on  the  watch  ;  and,  if  need  be,  for  the  exploration  of  the 
Barony  itself.  Full  of  this  idea,  and  never  doubting  that  he 
should  find  a  favorable  reception  from  the  outlaws,  in  their  mo 
ment  of  acknowledged  difficulty,  the  worthy  Pete  popped  into 
the  circle;  but  it  would  seem  somewhat  prematurely 

The  moment  he  became  visible,  All-fire  Dick  leaped  upon 
him  and  seized  him  by  the  throat.  The  outlaw  was  equally 
vexed  at  being  surprised,  and  followed. 

"What  the  h-11  brought  you  hyar,  you  weasel-sperritted 
rascal,  when  I  told  you  to  keep  offl" 

And  he  throttled  the  skulk,  with  steely  fingers,  until  the 
breath  came  out  in  a  gurgle  from  his  throat,  along  with  broken 
syllables  of  entreaty. 

«  Lord  ha'  marcy  !     Oh !  — I'm  a-cho  — choking  !" 
"  What  brought  you  hyar,  you  d— d  skunk,  when  I  told  you 
not  to  come  ?"  cried  the  ruffian,  as  he  hurled  the  fellow  to  the 
earth  and  clapped  his  foot  upon  his  neck. 

"  Ah  !  be  marciful !  be  marciful !  I  jest  come  to  lend  a  hand 
in  case  of  needcessity." 

"  And  what,  in  the  name  of ,  kin  sicli  a  mean  sneak  and 

coward  as  you  do,  when  it's  a  business  that  needs  nothing  but 
strong  men  only?  You  varmint!  I  know  better  what  you 
come  for !  You  thought  there  was  to  be  some  pickings,  did 
you?_and  you'd  have  found  fingers  enough,  after  we  had 
found  .the  flesh  !  But  I'll  slit  your  ears  for  you,  you  skunk !  - 

I'll—" 

And,  with  these  words,  the  outlaw  drew  his  knife,  a  monstrDug 
couteau  de  ckasse,  worthy  to  compare  with  the  bowie-knife  of 
recent  days ;  and,  but  for  the  interposition  of  "  Skin-the-Ser- 
pent,"    it    is   beyond   question   that    the    ears— possibly 
throat  — of   the   intruder,  might  have  been  made  to  pay  the 


THE   OUTLAWS    IN   COUNCIL.  108 

penalty  of  his  impertinence  ;  but  "  Skin-the-Seipent,"  who  was 
not  wholly  the  fool  that  All-fire  Dick  declared  him,  inter- 
pjsed,  saying  — 

"  Stop,  Dick,  the  fellow  kin  do  some  sarvice  !  Hear  what  he's 
a  saying.  It's  reason  !  He  kin  go  for  Zeke  Rodgers  and  the 
dogs,  and  then  Rafe  Brunson  kin  go  to  '  the  Barony,'  and  look 
ahout  him  thar." 

"  No  !  by  thunder  !  Ef  anybody's  to  go  to  the  Barony,  it's 
this  mean  sneak  of  a  skunk.  He's  the  right  person  to  play  the 
spy ;  he's  got  nateral  recommendations  for  it ;  and,  by  the 
hocus,  he  shall  do  it  !  Do  you  hear  —  eh  ?" 

The  suggestion,  approved  by  the  ruffians  generally,  was  one 
which  did  not  commend  itself  to  the  party  most  concerned. 
The  quick  fears  of  Pete  Blodgit  readily  conceived  the  risk 
which  he  should  incur,  making  his  appearance  at  the  dwelling, 
at  the  hands  o'f  Major  Sinclair,  should  the  latter  have  really 
reached  the  Barony  in  safety.  Respited  only  from  the  knife 
of  "  All-fire  Dick,"  and  permitted  to  rise,  he  trembled  with  the 
dread  of  that  redoubted  person  ;  yet  he  felt,  intuitively,  that,  to 
accede  to  his  requisition,  was  to  incur  almost  as  great  a  danger. 
To  steer  an  evasive  course  is,  in  all  such  cases,  the  usual  resort 
of  imbecility. 

"  I  reckon  he  ain't  got  to  the  Barony  at  all.  His  horse  was 
most  gin  out,  when  he  come  last  night.  He  couldn't  ha'  done 
it,  no  how  !  He's  in  the  woods  here,  below,  I'm  sartin ;  and,  ef 
jou'll  let  me,  I'll  have  Zeke  Rodgers  and  his  dogs  here,  in  a 
short  two  hours." 

"  Did  we  ax  you  for  your  thinking,  you  etarnal  skunk  ?"  was 
the  reply  of  Dick,  as  he  resumed  his  grasp  upon  the  fellow's 
throat,  "  Look  you,  thar's  only  one  question,  and  I  don't  care 
a  button  which  way  you  answer  it ;  for  my  knife  itches  to  be 
at  you,  with  a  wipe  that'll  clean  your  ears  close  to  the  skull ! 
Will  you  go  ahead  or  not  ?"  And  his  finger  pointed  to  the 
avenue.  Without  waiting  for  his  answer,  the  ruffian  whirled 
him  about,  applied  his  foot  emphatically  to  the  person  cf  the 
overseer,  an<?  said — 

"Mount!" 

Pete  Blodgit  was  not  the  man  for  a  prolonged  resistance  to 
the  wishes  of  a  superior.  He  unfastened  his  horse  from  the 


104  THE    FORAYERS. 

swinging  limb  to  which  he  had  tethered  him,  mounted  in 
silence,  and  then  paused. 

"Well!  why  ain't  you  off  ?" 

"  I  wanted  to  hear  what  I  must  do." 

"  Snake  through  the  settlement !  —  spy  !  Use  your  eyes  and 
ears,  and  find  out  ef  the  man  we're  a'ter  has  got  up.  You  didn't 
need  to  be  told  that.  You  know'd  it  well  enough.  You  kin  do 
it  well  too,  ef  you're  a  mind  to,  for  that's  the  only  business  you're 
good  for." 

"  But  suppose  he's  thar  ?" 

"Well !  that's  what  we  wants  to  know." 

"  But,  I  reckon,  ef  he's  thar,  he'll  hardly  be  willing  to  let  me 
come  away  agin." 

"  Why,  what  the  ,  will  he  want  with  such  a  critter  as 

you?" 

"  He  might  make  me  a  prisoner,  or — " 

"  Hang  you,  you  think  !" 

An  involuntary  shiver  of  the  overseer  showed  the  outlaw 
that  he  was  on  the  raw  of  the  difficulty.  He  proceeded  : — 

"  Ef  he  hangs  you,  Blodgit,  though  we  don't  care  the  most 
etarnal  button  for  your  hide,  yet,  as  you  goes  on  our  business, 
we'll  hang  up  every  mortal  man  in  the  Barony,  and  on  the  same 
tree,  to  keep  you  company.  Thar  now!  be  off!  No  more 
words.  Ef  they  makes  you  prisoner  —  that  is  to  say,  ef  you 
ain't  back  agin  in  two  hours  —  we'll  look  arter  you !  Thar's 
enough  of  us,  I  reckon,  to  grapple  our  way  into  them  Avails,  and 
tear  you  away  with  our  teeth  !  And  we're  the  men  to  do  it ! 
So,  don't  be  skeared  !  You'll  come  off  safely  with  hair  and 
hide.  Be  off,  and  do  your  sneaking  like  the  old  sarpent  in  the 
garden." 

Blodgit  would  still  have  lingered,  having  no  just  sense  of  the 
satisfactory  or  compensative,  contained  in  the  promise  that,  if 
hung,  there  should  be  company  provided  for  him  on  the  same 
tree ;  but  Joe  Best,  a  cool,  quiet  fellow,  deliberately  laid  the 
lash  of  his  whip  over  his  shoulders  with  such  emphasis  as  to 
settle  instantly  all  further  doubts  on  the  part  of  the  spy.  He 
was  off  for  the  road  and  avenue  on  the  instant. 

"Them's  the  only  argymc  *ts  for  sich  a  critter,"  was  the  com 
mentary  of  the  chief  of  the  outlaws,  which  he  accompanied 


THE   OUTLAWS   IN   COUNCIL.  105 

vrith  a  hearty  chuckle.  "  And  now,  Ralph  Brunson,  do  you  bo 
off  at  once  for  Zeke  Rodgers  and  the  dogs.  We  are  not  to  stop 
doing  till  we  hear  from  Blodgit.  The  truth  is,  the  fello\v  stands 
a  chaince  of  getting  roped  in  some  way ;  sure,  ef  Willie  Sin 
clair's  got  to  the  Barony.  You  see  it's  cl'ar  that  Sinclair's 
found  Blodgit  out.  Well,  he's  jest  the  man  to  work  his  fingers 
jest  as  his  idecs  work;  and  I  shouldn't  care  a  snap  of  my  fin 
gers  ef  he  did  knock  the  skunk  of  a  fellow  on  the  head." 

"  But  then  he's  on  our  business,  Dick,"  put  in  Skin-the-Ser- 
pent. 

"  Jest  so  !  And,  being  on  our  business,  ef  he  conies  to  any 
harm,  we  must  see  him  righted  !  That's  all  cl'ar  enough ! 
What  I  meant  was,  that,  as  for  any  use  that  Pete  Blodgit's  to 
us,  now  that  Sinclair's  found  him  out,  he's  none  ;  and  'twouldn't 
be  of  any  consarn  to  us  ef  he  was  a  hanging  on  the  first  tree, 
to-morrow !  But  AVC  won't  let  him  hang  ef  we  kin  help  it, 
while  he's  working  on  our  account ;  and  we'll  be  as  good  as  our 
word,  in  hanging  as  many  others  as  we  kin  lay  our  hands  on,  in 
that  blasted  nobility  consarn,  ef  so  be  they  dare  to  put  Pete 
Biodgit's  neck  out  of  j'int.  That's  jest  now  as  sartin  as  ef  I 
had  sworn  it  under  the  pulpit.  Let's  be  driving,  now,  Sarpent. 
We'll  skairt  the  avenue  and  the  lower  fences,  keeping  close  in 
the  bushes  as  we  go." 

The  remaining  outlaws  now  took  horse.  Ralph  Brunson  had 
pushed  off,  almost  as  soon  as  ordered  —  exhibiting  nc  such  re 
luctance  as  Pete  Blodgit.  This  latter  worthy  was  making  his 
way  slowly  to  the  dwelling,  filled  with  many  misgivings,  and 
bucily  employed,  mentally,  in  preparing  the  apologies  for  his 
conduct,  should  he  find  Major  Sinclair  at  the.  Barony;  and,  in- 
the  event  of  his  absence,  a  neat  little  narrative  for  the  satisfac 
tion  of  all  other  persons.  Blodgit  was  not  without  a  certain 
sort  of  genius.  It  was  eminently  foxy  and  skunkish,  but  of 
ealue  and  great  use  when  practised  upon  those  to  whom  the 
3dor  of  either  beast  is  yet  unknown. 

"Mass  Willie."  quoth  Benny  Bowlegs,  peering  into  the 
chamber  of  Carrie  Sinclair,  where  the  major  of  dragoons  still 
harbored,  "sure  as  a  gun,  hyar's  dat  polecat,  Pete  Blodgit, 
scorning  up  de  ab'nue." 

"  See  to  Kim  at  once,  Benny,  and  keep  close  upon  his  foot 

5* 


106  THE    FORAl'ERS 

steps.     See  that  he  discovers  nothing  of  me  or  mine      Keep 
him  always  in  your  sight,  and  remember,  should  he  happen  to 
make  any  discoveries,  rope  him,  and  shut  him  up  !" 
"  Sure  for  clat,  maussa  !" 

Benny  was  no  sluggard.  He  moved  off  with  the  step  and 
look  of  one  who  is  equally  prompt  and  determined.  Certainly, 
if  ho  has  occasion  to  rope  Blodgit  —  and  he  will  not  be  slow  to 
make  the  occasion  —  he  will  not  be  at  pains  to  provide  a  silken 
garter.  Five  minutes  after,  he  might  be  seen,  with  a  significant 
plough-line  in  his  hands,  conducting  the  dubious  overseer,  with 
great  apparent  civility  and  attention,  into  the  great  hall  where 
Colonel  Sinclair,  half  reclining,  half  sitting,  was  nursing  his 
podagra.  But, before  this  presence  could  be  reached,  there  were 
ceremonial  restraints  without  number,  none  of  which  would  the 
attentive  Benny  Bowlegs  forego.  He  could  spare  none  of  the 
civilities  due  to  so  proper  a  person  as  Mr.  Pete  Blodgit. 

"  Fassen  dat  hoss  of  Misser  Pete  Blodgit  to  fodder  tree,  you 
little  black  Toby,"  was  the  cry  of  Benny  Bowlegs,  to  the  white- 
shirted  little  son  of  sables,  who  stood  at  the  portals 

"Never  mind,  Benny, t'will do  thar,  where  I  hitched  him." 
"  Beg  you'  pardon,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,"  responded  Benny, 
wit\  dignity,  "  'twon't  do  dar  at  all !  Dat  tree  is  plant  for 
grow,  not  for  hoss  to  chaw  !  Colonel  Sincklar  see  dat  hoss  fas. 
sened  to  dat  tree,  he  will  jist  as  lief  cut  dat  hoss  trote,  right 
away,  as  look  'pon  'em.  You  yerry  black  Toby?  —  do  as  1 
tell  you." 

"  Oh  !  yes  !  move  him  to  the  other  tree,  Benny,  ef  you  think 
your  master  won't  like  him  at  that,"  was  the  consenting  an  - 
rather  eager  response  of  Blodgit,  whose  desire  was  by  no  means 
to  see  the  knife  of  the  colonel  and  the  weasand  of  his  horse 
more  intimately  acquainted. 

Cut  he  trote,  for  true!"  muttered  Benny,  "  ef  he  cotch  'em 
dar." 

"  The  colonel's  well,  Benny,  I  reckon  ?" 
"  I  reckon  not  edzactly,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit :  lie's  jest  sick 
enough  to  be  all-fired  skittish.  You'll  jes'  be  prcticklar,  Misser 
Pete  Blodgit,  wha'  you  guine  say  to  'em,  for  dis  is  de  time  wid 
'em  nebber  to  'top  t'ink  wha'  sawt  ob  answer  he  guirip.  mek' ; 
and  he  jest  as  leab  speak  to  you  wid  de  little  gould-headed 


THE   OUTLAWS   IN   COUNCIL.  107 

knob  ob  he  walking-'tick,  as  wid  de.  civility  ob  de  tongue! 
Please  'member  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  sence  I  no  wants  to  carry 
you  down  to  you  lioss  wid  you  head  all  bloody,  and  maybe  a 
break  somewhar  in  you  tighbone  or  arm !" 

"  Thank  you,  Benny ;  I'll  be  mighty  considerant  of  his  siti- 
vation." 

"  Better  for  you,  das  all !" 

Blodgit,  at  the  entrance,  seemed  disposed  to  hesitate.  The 
door  was  open  before  him. 

"  Dis  de  way,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit ;  you  must  'member  ob 
old, I  reckon." 

"Oh  !  yes,  Benny,  I  reckon  I  knows  all  about  the  Barony, 
jest  as  well  as  them  that  lives  here." 

"  Yes,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  I  reckon  you  does !  You  always 
was  mighty  quick  to  look  'bout  you  wherebber  you  goes ;  and, 
sometimes,  I  reckon  you  look  jes'  whay  people  don't  want  you 
to  set  you  eyes." 

Blodgit  felt  that  there  was  something  in  this  speech  offen 
sively  suggestive,  and  it  ruffled  him  a  little.  He  replied  rather 
quickly  :  — 

"  Well,  I  spose  I  had  a  right  to  look  jest  where  I  did." 

"  Now,  look  yer,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  better  you  don't  say 
not'ing  to  ole  maussa  'bout  you  rights,  and  all  dat  sawt  ob  ting ; 
kaise,  you  see,  he's  a  gentleman  what  don't  blieb  berry  much  in 
de  rights  ob  poor  buckrah ;  and  ef  you  talks  to  him  'bout  you 
right  to  look  'bout  him,  whay  you  please,  you  know  wha'  he 
guine  say  ?" 

"  What  will  he  say.  Benny  ?" 

"  Well,  he  will  say,  '  Jes'  so,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  it's  you 
right  to  spy,  may  be,  but  it's  my  right  for  knock  you  on  de 
head  for  spy  ii_  my  house  !'  Das  wha'  he  guine  to  say ;  and  I 
tell  you,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  he  guine  do  wha'  he  say,  sure  as 
t'under." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  he'll  knock  me  down,  Benny,  for  I  ain't 
a-guine  to  talk  about  my  rights  to  spy  in  any  man's  place.  I 
don't  spy,  Benny,  that's  not  my  business." 

"I  berry  grad  for  yerry  you  say  so,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit; 
and  now,  ef  you  say  you  wants  to  see  ole  maussa,  dar's  de  paat* 
open  for  you.'' 


108  THE   FORAYERS. 

And,  with  a  very  lordly  air,  Benny  waved  his  hand  to  the 
open  entrance,  and  Blodgit  passed  in,  rather  demurely,  and 
with  his  uneasiness  somewhat  increased  hy  the  suspicious  cour 
tesies  and  sinister  warnings  of  Ben  Bowlegs.  To  the  uninitia 
ted  and  unobservant,  we  may  mention  here,  that,  had  Blodgit 
been  at  all  in  favor  with  the  negro,  the  latter  would  have  styled 
him  Mass  Pete,  or  maussa ;  —  the  "  Misser  Pete  Blodgit"  was 
very  decidedly  ceremonial,  and  it  did  not  escape  the  notice  of 
the  overseer.  But  no  time  was  given  him  for  reflection.  Once 
in  the  great  passage,  he  was  in  sight  from  either  of  the  two 
large  rooms  which  opened  upon  it,  in  one  of  which  Colonel  Sin 
clair  might  be  seen,  half  reclined  upon  an  easy-chair,  with  his 
game-leg  stretched  out  upon  a  cushioned  stool  before  him.  His 
gold-headed  cane  lay  on  the  table,  convenient  to  his  grasp  ;  and 
the  massive  knob  on  the  top  of  it,  marked  with  its  owner's  crest 
and  initials,  appeared  to  Blodgit  to  have  grown  prodigiously 
in  its  dimensions  since  he  last  had  the  satisfaction  of  looking 
upon  it. 


THE   BARON-  109 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE    BARON. 


BLODGIT  entered  the  presence  with  a  manner  studiously  apolo 
getic  ;  the  humility  of  which,  however,  was  quite  unaffected. 
He  could  not  shake  off  the  sense  of  that  habitual  awe,  of  the 
lordly  superior,  in  which  he  had  been  reared  ;  and  he  now 
stood,  cap  in  hand,  shoulders  bent,  foot  awkwardly  scraping,  and 
a  half-silly,  half-smiling  visage,  which  was  designed  to  be  very 
conciliatory. 

Col.  Sinclair  was  one  of  the  despots  of  the  old  school ;  a  gen 
tleman  no  doubt  among  gentlemen  ;  but  a  lord  to  all  others ; 
—  ft  man  capable  of  generosity  in  high  degree,  and  condescen 
sion  ;  but  one  who  expected  that  you  should  understand  his 
condescension,  and  feel  his  generosity.  He  was,  really,  a  per 
son  of  a  C3ntury  even  older  than  his  own;  and  though  he  fully 
believed  in  Adam  and  Eve,  as  the  parents  of  that  prolific  family 
vulgarly  recognised  as  the  human,  yet  no  priesthood  in  tiio 
world  could  have  persuaded  him  that  there  were  not  a  great 
many  varieties  of  clay  employed  in  the  moulding  of  those 
myriad  varieties  which  constitute  the  sum  total  of  the  races 
of  men  !  He  had  swayod  as  a  superior  sc  long,  and  as  a  natural 
superior,  that  it  was  not  possible  with  him  to  question  his  OAVII 
legitimacy,  or  to  acknowledge  the  claims  of  that  fungus  multi 
tude,  which  it  needed  another  hundred  years  to  raise,  in  any 
degree,  to  a  fairly  human  position.  He  really  meant  no  scorn, 
or  contempt,  when,  without  turning  his  head,  or  answering  the 
reverence  of  the  overseer,  he  said  :  — 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you  want,  Blodg.it  ?  What  brings  you 
here  without  being  sent  for  ?" 

These  words,  uttered  by  stentorian  lungs — for  in  that  day 
empressment  in  voice  and  manner  was  by  no  means  held  to  ba 
vulgar  among  the  Carolina  aristocracy  —  sustained  by  a  lordly 


HO  THE   FORAYERS. 

look,  from  brows  of  size  and  authority,  —  white  head,  ruddy 
cheeks,  and  a  face  originally  nobly  handsome,  — to  say  nothing 
of  a  fine  physique,  broad  shoulders,  massy  form,  and  the  loftiest 
stature  —  these  words,  so  uttered,  and  from  such  a  person,  had 
the  effect  of  additionally  staggering  the  doubtful  confidence  of 
the  overseer;  who  twirled  his  cap,  and  slightly  receded,  and  • 
muttered  something  unintelligibly. 

"  Speak  out  like  a  man,  fellow  !     What  the  devil  scares  you  1 
You  have  something  to  say  1     Out  with  it,  and  no  long  talk !" 
Thus  urged,  Blodgit  made  an  effort. 

Well,  colonel,  you  see,  I  come  about  the  major." 
-•'  The  major  !  and  who's  the  major,  I  pray  ?" 
"Why,  Major  Willie  Sinclair,  sir,  your  son—" 
"  And  who  authorized  you,  sirrah,  to  speak  to  me  about  that 
young  man  1  and  who  told  you  that  I  was  prepared  to  hear  of 
him,  and  to  recognise  him  in  any  military  authority  winch  was 
not  recognised  by  his  sovereign  and  mine  1     Do  you  suppose, 
sir,  that  I  am  the  man  to  tolerate  his  or  your  impertinence  ? 
know  you  to  be  one  of  his  rapscallion  followers ;  but  sirrah,  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  thrust  him,  or  them,  upon  my  presence, 
when  I  am  prepared  to  summon  them.     If  you  have  nothing 
better  to  speak  of,  depart !     I  desire  to  hear  nothing  of  my  son, 
or  of  his  elegant  companions." 

Listeners  are  said  to  hear  but  little  good  of  themselves  at  any 
time.  Willie  Sinclair  was  not  in  a  situation  to  render  the  prov- 
srb  an  erring  one  in  his  case.  He  was  in  the  adjoining  room  with 
his  sister;  not  there, as  a  listener  to  his  father,  by  any  means, 
but  only  of  what  should  fall  from  the  lips  of  Master  Pete  Blod 
git.  He  smiled,  grimly  enough,  as  he  heard  the  complimentary 
tenor  of  the  old  man's  speech. 

Blodgit  was  nearly  reduced  to  desperation  at  the  determined 
rejection  of  his  only  topic,    by  the  person  whom  he  sought ; 
and,  in  his  despair,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  he  resorted  to  ex 
aggeration  in  order  to  compel  attention  :  — 
"  Don't  want  to  make  you  angry,  Co! — — " 
"  Then  don't  make  me  angry  !" 

"That's  it,  colonel!  — I  don't  want  to  make  you  angry— 
but  you  see,  last  night — 

"  Well,  what  of  last  night  ?" 


THE   BARON.  Ill 


u  Why,  sir,  you  see- 


"  Stop  sir  —  a  moment!  —  what  do  yoa  mean  by  lingering 
here,  Benny  ?  are  you  wanted  in  the  house  ?  Is  n't  your  prop 
er  place  in  the  fields,  old  fellow  ?" 

Benny,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  assigned  him  the  special 
duty  of  keeping  Blodgit  constantly  in  sight.  He  had  suffered 
himself  to  appear  more  than  once  in  his  master's  presence,  un 
necessarily,  it  would  seem,  in  the  performance.of  this*duty.  But 
he  had  no  such  reasons  as  Blodgit  for  showing  himself  abashed. 
He  answered  the  inquiry  steadily,  with  the  confident  freedom 
of  one  who  not  only  knows  his  own  honesty  of  purpose,  but  who 
feels  sure  of  its  general  recognition. 

"Proper  place  sometime  in  de  fields,  maussa;  sometime 
in  de  house  !  Proper  place  whar  de  officer  ob  de  day  puts  me  ; 
and  when  he  don'  know  'bout  de  position  ob  de  inimy,  den 
proper  pkce  whay  I  puts  myself,  to  do  snrbice !" 

"  You  are  a  vain  old  rascal,  Benny  ;  and  will  fancy  yourself 
a  soldier.  Beware  how  you  come  within  reach  of  my  cane,  old 
fellow  " 

"  Hah  !  Mass  Kurnel ;  der's  pussons  in  dis  wurl,  and  a  many 
ob  am  too,  dat  ought  to  taste  dat  cane  long  'fore  he  reach  de 
shoulders  of  dis  nigger!  I  hab  bunness  yer,  Mass  Kurnel;  — 
I  hab  inquisitions  for  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  whenebber  you  c'one 
vad  'em;  der's  some  cattle  business  atwixtus." 

"Very  well!  Ton  can  wait  with  your  '  inquisitions.'  It  is 
Mister  Pete  Blodgit  that  has  to  do  with  me.  Go  on  now,  sir. 
You  will  perceive  that  I  have  no  claim  upon  yaur  attention, 
while  my  servant  has." 

'  Blodgit's  desperation  —  and  vexation  too  —  had  increased 
duly,  during  this  little  episode ;  and  with  the  air  of  a  man  re 
signed  :o  his  fate,  he  blurted  out :  — 

. "  Well,  kurnel,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  jest  this,  that  ef  your 
son,  the  major,  aint  got  safely  here  last  night,  or  maybe  by  day 
light  this  morning,  then  it's  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  say  that 
he'll  ever  get  here  at  all  again  !  It's  a  despret  likely  chance 
that  they've  cotched  and  murdered  him  along  the  road!" 

"  Caught !  Murdered  !  —Willie  murdered  !  "  And  the  old 
man  caught  up  his  staff,  and  made  a  desperate  effort  to  rise,  but 
fell  back  in  the  fruitless  attempt  ^vhile  a  sharp  cry  attested  tb 


112  THE  FORAYERS. 

acute  spasm  which  wrung  his  foot  —  possibly  his  heart, — :at 
that  moment.  In  an  instant,  Carrie  Sinclair  rushed  in  from 
the  interior,  where  she  had  remained  perdu  with  her  brother 
and  unloosed  the  old  man's  cravat,  while  she  cried  — 

11  Oh  !  don't  believe  it !  It's  all  false.  Willie's  in  no  dan 
ger,  father  !  He's  not  murdered  !" 

"  Then  he  got  here,  safe,  ma'am  V  inquired  Blodgit  eagerly 
his  eye  straining  upon  hers. 

The  ready  wit  of  the  maiden  came  to  her  rescue.  The  eager 
inquiry  taught  her  of  the  near  approach  which  she  had  made  to 
the  revelation  of  her  secret. 

''Got  here!"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  the  spy.  "Then 
where  is  he  1  Why  do  we  not  see  him  ?  Go,  good  Blodgit, 
and  bring  him  to  us  at  once." 

"  Jes'  you  tell  me,  whay  for  fin'  'em,  Pete  Blodgit.  I  kin  go 
fetch  'em  ef  you  tell  me  whay  for  look?"  So  spoke  brave 
Benny  Bowlegs. 

•'  That's  jest  what  I  kaint  do,  now  ;  for  I  came  here,  you  tee, 
to  look  a'ter  him,  and  see  ef  he  was  safe.  I  know'd  them  bloody 
•  chaps  wor'  a'ter  him  last  night ;  fur  I  heard  'em  a-screaming  up 
the  road  jest  a'ter  the  major  pushed  off;  and  ef  they  cotchsd 
him,  with  the  heap  ef  guineas  he  had  about  him,  I  reckon  they'd 
make  no  bones  of  putting  a  bullet  into  him,  or  a  knife." 

"  And  who  dcm  peotf.e  bin  ?"  demanded  Benny,  with  an  air 
of  the  most  perfect  eineeritv. 

"  Who,  but  the  most  sav-igest  of  all  the  tories  in  these  parts 

Hell-fire  Dick,  and  Skin-the-Sarpent,  and  Rafe  Brunson,  and 

Joe  Best,  and,  I  reckon,  thar'  was  others  too,  and  they  had 
dogs." 

The  old  man  groaned  convulsively  ;  then  seemed  to  recover, 
and,  feebly  speaking,  though  with  quite  a  determined  effort  at 
composure,  he  said  — 

"  And  so  you  know  nothing  more,  Mr.  Blodgit  ?" 

•«  Not  the  weight  of  a  feather,  colonel.  I  pushed  off  at  peep 
j'  day  t(  see  a'ter  him  ;  but  there  was  nothing  and  nobody  to 
be  Deed  anywhar.  Thar'  wor'  hoof-marks  enough  'long  the 
•::>ad;  so  thar'  war'  no  telling.  I  reckon,  the  major  hadn't  time 
TO  e*op,  and  pushed  on  above,  and  they  a'ter  him.  Ef  he  ain't 
here,  he's  may  be  gone  above." 


THE   BARON.  113 

The  faintest  possible  smile  turned  the  corner  of  Benny 
Bowlegs'  mouth,  like  a  little  errant  sunbeam  through  the  wooda 
peeping  into  a  country  smithy ;  but  he  soon  heaped  over  it  all' 
the  charcoal  in  his  complexion,  and  it  totally  escaped  Blodgit's 
vision.  His  faculty  was  in  the  discovery  of  material  matters 
only.  By  this  time,  the  redoubtable  colonel  had  begun  to  re 
cover  some  of  his  strength  and  soldiership. 

"  What  a  d — d  condition  it  is  tj  be  in  !  This  cursed  foot !" 
and  he  looked  down  upon  the  member  —  so  much  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning  —  with  some  such  look  as  the  axe  might  be 
supposed  to  have  worn  when  it  bit  down  through  the  purple  ar 
teries  of  fair  Anne  Boleyn's  neck.  He  continued  —  no  doubt 
perceiving  how  very  idle  it  would  be  to  waste  his  epithets  of 
anger  on  his  own  foot  —  turning  to  Blodgit  — 

"And  you,  a  man  grown,  with  gun  and  rifle  in  your  hands  — 
you  allowed  the  wretched  boy  to  be  shot  down  and  butchered 
in  your  sight,  without  so  much  as  lifting  weapon  ?" 

"  Lord  bless  you,  kurnel,  I  didn't  see  it,  nor  them.  I  jest 
hearn  them  and  their  dogs,  as  they  went  by,  full  speed,  a'ter 
the  major,  and  he  with  all  that  money  !" 

"  The  rebel  to  his  king  !  He  deserves  his  fate  ;  but  you  !  — 
you  could  wait  till  daylight,  before  you  came  to  give  the  alarm, 
instead  of  dashing  after  them  ! — " 

"  Why,  Lord,  kurnel,  what  was  I  to  do,  and  a  lame  man  too, 
ag'in  the  most  powerful,  strong  fighting-men  of  all  the  tories — 

"  Loyalists,  sirrah !  loyalists  !  Though,  by  the  way,  these 
fellows  of  whom  you  speak  are  mere  outlaws — " 

"  I  reckon,  you're  right  thar  !" 

"  Le'  me  ax  you,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit,  whay  Mass  Willie  bin 
git  all  dcm  guineas?" 

"  Well,  he  got  a  smart  chaince  of  them  from  me.  I  reckon, 
going  on  to  a  hundred ;  and,  I  reckon,  he  had  as  many  more 
besides  from  other  people." 

"  And  where  did  you  get  a  hundred  guineas  ?"  demanded  the 
colonel. 

"  Why,  kurnel,  from  the  corn  and  fodder,  you  see,  and  the 
kaives,  and  other  things.  The  bettermost  part  Vlonged  to 
Miss  Carrie  here,  that  I  had  killected  for  her  from  sales." 

"  And  tell  me,  Missir  IV  B  Blodgit,  Low  dem  blackguard  gem 


114  THE    FORAYERS. 

piemen  come  for  know  Mass  Willie  hab  all  dat  heap  o' guinea?" 
asked  Benny,  with  a  grave  slyness  and  squint  of  eye. 

"  How  they  know'd  ?  Well,  I  reckon  they  had  a  suspicion 
of  it :  they  reckon 'd  he  wan't  a  travelling  about  with  nothing  to 
go  upon.  But  I  don't  know  that  they  know'd  at  all !" 

We  must  suppose  a  good  many  other  questions  asked  and  an 
swered  after  a  fashion  ;  but,  it  will  be  readily  understood,  that, 
during  the  whole  investigation,  there  was  a  certain  constraint 
over  all  the  parties,  with  the  exception  of  the  colonel.  The 
daughter  and  Benny  Bowlegs  could  not  reveal  their  secret ; 
and  Blodgit,  from  policy,  kept  his.  The  task  before  the  daugh 
ter  was  a  severe  one :  to  see  her  father  suffer  —  to  hear  his  in 
voluntary  groan  of  anguish  —  to  witness  the  struggle  between 
his  pride,  and  the  deep-seated  but  suppressed  affections  in  his 
heart  —  and  to  remain  silent,  when  it  was  in  her  power,  by  a 
single  word,  to  relieve  him  of  all  his  mental  suffering  at  least ! 

"  What  is  to  be  done  V  moaned,  rather  than  spoke  the  father, 
forgetting  all  his  Roman  resolutions.  "  Would  to  God,  I  were 
able  to  take  the  saddle  !" 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  Blodgit,  but  turned  away  with  a 
sickening  gesture. 

"Nothing  from  him  !"  he  murmured  despondingly.  Sudden 
ly  his  eye  caught  that  of  Benny  Bowlegs.  "  Ha  !  what's  to 
prevent  you  ?  You  are  able  to  mount  horse,  and  use  sabre,  if 
needs  be ;  and  there  is  Little  Peter,  who  will  fight  for  Willie 
too  !  How  is  it,  Ben.  that  I  have  to  say  to  you  — '  Go  and  find 
Willie  Sinclair,  living  or  dead,  and  bring  him  to  his  father  ?" 

"  De  Lawd  in  heabben  be  praise,  maussa  !  I  gone  !  Come, 
Misser  Pete  Blodgit ;  we  kin  go  togedder ;  me,  you,  and  Little 
Peter.  We  kin  all  go  togedder — by  differen'  roads.  You  ride 
down,  Misser  Pete  Blodgit ;  and  little  Peter  and  me,  one,  will 
ride  up.  When  you  gits  in  de  tick  [thick]  woods  you  scatter 
you  men;  and  me  and  Peter  will  scatter  we  two,  and  s'arch 
^bbrywhare  !" 

This  very  definite  arrangement  chimed  in  with  Blodgit's  de 
sires.  He  had  no  wish  .hat  the  negro,  whom  he  somewhat 
feared,  should  accompany  him  below.  He  was  satisfied  that 
Willie  Sinclair  was  not  at  the  Barony.  The  old  man's  agony 
could  not  have  been  simulated.  He  had  fulfilled  his  task  suf- 


THE  BARON.  135 

ficiently — satisfactorily,  as  he  thought  —  and  there  was  nothing 
in  the  eye  of  Colonel  Sinclair,  or  that  of  his  daughter,  which 
encouraged  him  to  remain.  Of  course,  he  bowed  himself  out  as 
reverently  as  he  came,  the  colonel  scarcely  heeding  his  expres 
sions  of  devotion  and  adieu  ;  and  Benny  Bowlegs  was  particu 
larly  careful  to  escort  the  overseer  to  his  nag,  and  see  him  on 
his  way.  He  had  ordered  horses,  in  the  hearing  of  Blodgit,  for 
himself  and  little  Pster ,  and  when  the  former  rode  off,  he  re 
peated  his  instructions  for  that  "  s'arch  below"  in  which  Blod 
git  was  to  scatter  himself  abroad,  for  the  thorough  exploration 
of  the  '  thick'  forests.  The  spy,  once  out  of  sight,  Benny  had 
his  horses  quietly  put  back  into  the  stables. 

Meanwhile,  the  old  warrior,  the  stoical  philosopher,  the  Ro  - 
man  father,  relieved  of  the  presence  of  the  stranger,  buried  hia 
face  in  his  hands  with  a  terrible  burst  of  anguish,  exclaiming  in 
the  very  words  of  the  minstrel  monarch  — 

"  My  son  !  my  son !  would  God  that  I  had  died  for  thee,  my 
son !" 

The  tears  gushed  from  Willie  Sinclair's  eyes  in  his  place  of 
hiding,  where  he  had  heard  every  syllable.  He  could  scarce 
contain  himself;  and  it  required  a  prodigious  effort  to  avoid 
rushing  forth  and  throwing  himself  at  his  father's  feet  But 
Carrie  Sinclair,  twining  her  arms  about  the  old  man's  neck, 
exclaimed — 

"  Oh  !  father,  do  not  fear  !  There  is  nothing  to  fear  !  It  is 
not  true  that  brother  is  in  any  danger  !  Willie  has  escaped  the 
outlaws !" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  escaped,  has  he  ?  Escaped  !  are  you  sure  of  it  ? 
How  do  you  come  to  know  ?" 

"  Benny  is  sure  of  it,  father  \     He  knows  !     He  is  certain  !" 

"  If  Benny  is  certain,  I  am  satisfied !  Escaped  the  blood 
hounds,  has  he  ?  Ah  ! — "  A  long  deep  moan  of  relief.  This 
over,  he  looked  up  angrily — "And  why  did  neither  of  you  tell 
me  this  before  ?  Why  did  you  suffer  me  to  expose  myself  be 
fore  that  reptile  ?" 

"  It  was  because  Benny  had  reasons,  father,  for  keeping  that 
very  person  in  ignorance  of  our  knowledge." 

"Benny  is  becoming  too.  strategical  by  half!  Why  the 
mystery  ?  Is  not  this  fellow,  Blodgit,  in  the  employ  of  Willie 


116  THE   FORAYERS. 

Sinclair  1  What  good  reason  is  there  for  keeping  him  from  3 
fact  in  which  he  is  naturally  interested.  Did  he  not  show  big 
interest,  in  the  very  act  of  coming  here  in  search  of  him  ?" 

Benny  reappeared  at  this  very  moment,  and  heard  find 
understood  the  remark. 

"  Shet  up,  maussa,"  he  said  coolly,  "  and  no  bodder  yourseb 
v/id  dis  transaction.  You  hab  'nough  to  bodder  you.  'Tit 
'nough;  I  tell  you  now,  dat  dem  d — :a  skunk,  dat  run  Masi 
Willie  List  night,  no  hab  de  nose  for  follow  i  He  git  shet  oh 
dcm  !  I  know  !  I  see !  I  bin  talk  wid  'em  myself  dis  morn 
ing,  by  times,  so  help  me  God  !" 

"  You  did  !     You  spoke  with  Willie  this  morning  ?" 
"  Jes'  so  !     A  good  hour  'fo'  daylight." 
"  And  Willie  talked  with  you  ?" 
"  Jes'  so  !     I  yerry  'em  talk." 
"  And  you  spoke  with  him  ?" 
"  Zackly !     I  tell  'em  heap  o'  tings/' 
"  You  saw  him,  too,  with  your  eyes  open  ?" 
"  Jes'  so,  maussa !  and  feel  'em  wid  my  open  ban !" 
"  Ah  !  to  feel  his  wounds  !     He  was  hurt?" 
"He   no  hab  hu't  [hurt]  any whar !     I  shake  he  han's,  like 
one  gempleman  shake  han'  wid  'noder  gempleman  ;  and  I  feed 
'em  !     I  gi'  'em  someting  for  eat." 

"  And  he  ate  !  —  did  he  ]  —  you  saw  him  eat?" 
"Like  a  mighty  'trong  [strong]  man,  wid  a  mighty  sharp 
'tomach,  maussa." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !     He  had  an  appetite,  had  he  ?" 
This  was  said  with  a  convulsive  chuckle.     In  a  moment  after, 
with  changed  voice  — 

"  And  why,  you  d — d  rascal,  do  you  tell  me  these  things  ? 
What  is  it  to  me  whether  the  rebel  you  speak  of  has  an  appe 
tite  or  not  1  Do  you  suppose  I  care  a  straw  whether  he  can 
speak  with  you  or  not ;  can  see  you  or  not  ?  or  whether  you 
see  or  speak  with  him  ?  I  wish  to  hear  nothing  of  this  sort  in 
future  !  Carrie,  my  child,  you  will  please  remember  my  wishes. 
As  for  you,  you  sooty  rascal,  begone  from  my  sight !  Do  not 
come  within  reach  of  my  stick !  Do  not  let  me  see  you  again 
to-day  !" 

Benny  Bowlegs  walked  out  very  composedly,  a  grin  mantling 


THE   BARON.  11 I 

his  visage  as  SCOP  as  his  back  was  turned.  Carrie  Sinclair  went 
up  to  her  father ;  but  he  repulsed  her  gently.  His  eyes  were 
moist,  and  his  face  was  in  an  instant  covered  in  his  hands 
Willie  Sinclair  peeped  through  the  half-opened  door  at  him, 
while  he  sate  in  this  position  ;  but  he  did  not  venture  to  ap 
proach.  The  son's  eyes  were  very  full  of  tears,  when  his  sistei 
rejoined  him,  and  in  her  chamber  they  retired  to  weep  together 
for  awhile:  m  which  performance,  we  may  add,  that 
Sinclair  was  soon  very  fast  asleep. 


THE   FORAYERS. 


CHAPTER    ZTI. 

HKLL-F1RE    DICK    ENGAGES    IN    /.    NEW    VEAiTURV 

IT  was  by  no  means  a  difficult  task  with  Pete  Blodgit  -a 
fellow  very  well  versed  in  woodcraft — to  find  the  traces  of  the 
scouting  party  under  "All-fire  Dick,"  and  to  make  his  way  to 
the  spot  where  they  harbored.  He  first  encountered  "  Skin- 
the-Serpent,"  whom  he  accompanied  until  they  came  up  with 
Joe  Best ;  and  the  three  then  rode  on  together  till  they  found 
the  leader  of  the  gang,  who  was  more  deeply  buried  in  the 
woods.  Ralph  Brunspn  had  not  yet  returned  with  Zeke  Rodgers 
and  his  bloodhounds,  and  Dick,  the  captain,  was  fast  becoming 
impatient,  in  his  eagerness  to  begin  the  chase. 

In  a  thick  copse,  some  half  a  mile  in  the  rear  of  the  garden 
of  the  Barony,  the  whole  party  assembled  ;  and  here,  all  alight 
ed,  and  our  overseer  made  his  report.  His  conviction,  that 
Willie  Sinclair  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  making  his  way  to  the 
mansion-house,  was  naturally  that  of  the  group ;  and  they  now 
longed  for  nothing  so  eagerly  as  the  arrival  of  Brunson,  Eodgers, 
and  the  dogs,  in  order  to  run  down  the  fugitive  with  his  burden 
some  bag  of  guineas.  To  beat  the  woods,  or  make  any  alarm, 
until  the  hounds  and  the  additional  force  of  hunters  were  put 
on  the  scent,  was  no  more  their  policy  than  it  would  have  been 
had  their  game  been  the  royal  luck  himself.  But,  while  they 
all  declared  their  impatience  at  the  delay,  a  new  and  bolder 
idea  seized  upon  All-tire  .Dick,  induced  by  some  of  the  particu 
lars  given  by  Blodget  in  his  narration  of  what  happened  on  his 
visit.  Dick,  the  Diabolical,  had  listened  for  a  while  in  silence; 
but  now  put  in  :  — 

"  You  say,"  said  he  to  the  overseer,  "  that  the  old  man  kain't 
move  his  timbers?" 

"  Kain't  stir  a  peg,  no  more  than  ef  he  had  no  legs  at  all. 
Thar  he  sets  in  a  big  chair  with  soft  cushions;  and  his  legs  lay 


HELL-FIRE   DICK   ENGAGES   IN    A    NEW   VENTURE.       119 

on  a  bench  covered  with  saft  pillows ;  and  he  sets  by  the  table; 
and  his  gould-headed  stick  lays  on  the  table  easy  to  his  hands. 
Jest  so  I  left  him.  When  he  wants  to  move,  Little  Peter  lifts 
him  about  from  place  to  place." 

'  The  dem'd  old  rascal !  He  was  always  trying  to  look  like 
a  sort  of  king  !"  exclaimed  Skin-the-Serpent. 

"  Jest  so  !  and  he  never  had  a  good  word  yit  for  a  poor  man  ! 
He  talked  to  me  jest  as  ef  I  was  no  better  than  a  nigger." 

"  Well !  he's  rich,  I  reckon  !"  quoth  Dick. 

"  Rich  as  a  Jew,  they  say ;  but  that  don't  give  him  any 
Christian  right  to  talk  to  a  poor  man  as  ef  he  was  a  nigger." 

"  Yes  !  a  rich  man  has  a  right  to  talk  as  he  pleases  !  and  you 
knows  it ;  and  you  feels  it !  Ef  you  didn't,  why  didn't  you 
clap  a  stopper  on  his  mouth  when  he  talked  to  yon  as  ef  you 
was  a  nigger]"  was  the  retort  of  Dick. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  I  was  to  do  that  ?" 

"  You'd  like  to  know  !  Why,  «i  man  natorally  knows,  when 
lie's  got  the  heart  of  a  man  boating  in  his  buzzum  !  Hadn't 
you  your  arms,  and  hands,  and  feet ;  and  wan't  you  armed  with 
a  whip ;  and  hadn't  you  a  knife  in  your  belt;  and  wan't  he 
tlnir  —  before  you,  disabled  as  I  may  say  —  enable  to  lift  a  limb 
to  help  himself  agin  an  inirny  ?" 

'•Yes,  but  thar  was  that  double -j'inted  nigger,  Benny  Bow- 
legs; —  a  fellow  that's  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  ain't  afeard  of 
the  devil ;  and  didn't  I  know  that  Little  Peter  was  nigh  about, 
too?  and  he's  as  strong  as  Benny,  and  he  ain't  afearec^  neither ! 
Ef  I  had  lifted  finger  agin  the  kurnel,  they'd  ha'  mounted  me 
right  away ;  and  I  couldn't  ha'  held  a  hand  agin  them  two  ! 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  them,  I'd  ha'  soon  showed  the  old  kurnel 
that  he  wan't  to  hev'  his  own  way  always.  I  thought  of  giving 
him  a  wipe  with  a  hickory  towel  more  than  once." 

"You  thought  of  it,  did  you !"  quoth  the  outlaw  chief,  with  a 
look  expressive  of  the  fullest  disgust.  "  And  I  tell  you,  Pete 
Blodgit,  that  you'd  no  more  have  thought  of  lifting  we'pon  agin 
ole  Sinclair,  disabled  as  he  is,  so  long  as  his  eyes  was  upon  you, 
than  you'd  ha'  thought  of  fighting  a  whole  British  rigiment  \ 
It  wan't  the  niggers  that  kept  you  from  trying  your  hands  upon 
him;  but  'twas  his  eyes  upon  your'n ;  and  your  own  cowardly 
sperrit :  and  what  you  knowed  of  him  of  old  :  for,  impudent  as 


120  THE   FORAYERS. 

he  is,  and  a  tyrant  all  over,  there's  no  denying  that  he's  got 
spivnk  enough  to  fight  the  devil.  But  I  ain't  af eared  of  him ; 
and  I  never  seed  the  nigger  yit  that  had  the  impidence  to  look 
into  my  eyes ;  and  I'll  go  and  and  hev'  a  talk  with  the  old  ras 
cal,  and  see  what  7  can  make  out  of  him  ?" 

"  You  go  —  to  '  the  Barony'  ?  —  and  what  for?"  said  Skin-the- 
Serpent,  suspiciously.  "  The  young  fellow  ain't  thar  !" 

"  But  the  old  one  is  ?" 

"  Well,  but  it's  neither  the  old  one  nor  the  young  one  that 
ye  wants  —  it's  the  guineas." 

"  Jest  so,  Sarpent,  and  it's  the  guineas  that  I'm  arter.  Thai 
must  be  smart  pickings  in  that  old  house,  I'm  a  thinking.  The 
colonel's  rich  as  a  Jew.  Why,  the  very  stick  that  he  walks  with 
lias  as  much  as  five  guineas  on  the  head  of  it !  And  I  reckon 
thar's  a  chist  of  gould  and  silver  put  away  somewhar  about, 
and  the  young  woman  has  her  jewels  and  fine  things." 

Well,  but  how  are  you  to  git  at  them  ?" 

"  That's  for  me  to  find  out !  I  wants  to  see  how  the  land  lies ; 
and  what  Blodgit  tells  us,  shows  that  it's  mighty  easy,  jist  now, 
to  do  so.  I  wouldn't  like  to  come  sudden  up  with  the  old  kurnel, 
ef  he  had  his  limbs  and  strength,  and  we'pons  at  hand ;  but, 
you  see,  he  ain't  able  to  stir  a  peg,  and  I  takes  him  by  surprise. 
The  niggers  I  ain't  afeared  of;  and  don't  you  hear  what  Blodgit 
says,  that  they've  started  off,  jest  now,  when  he  did,  to  beat  the 
upper  woods  a-s'arching  arter  the  body  of  the  major  ?  Ha  !  ha! 
ha !  s'ai;cliing  arter  the  dead  body  of  a  man  what's  alive  and 
kicking.  Well !  don't  you  see  that  it's  a  first-rate  chaince,  jest 
now,  to  look  into  the  premises,  and  see  what  there  is  worth 
picking  up." 

The  adventure  became  suddenly  very  plausible  in  the  eyes  of 
c,:.e  group.  Skin-the-Serpent,  in  particular,  seemed  disposed  to 
abandon  the  hunt  of  the  son,  in  order  to  do  honor  to  the  father. 
They  all  began  to  suspect  that  the  shares  of  Dick  were  to  be 
unnecessarily  large. 

"  It  won't  do  for  you  one  to  go.  We  kin  all  go.  I  reckon 
there  '11  be  more  than  all  of  us  kin  bring  away  !"  So  spoke 
Skin-the-Serpent. 

Even  Blodgit  was  not  unwilling  to  return  to  the  Barony  ;  fol 
lowing,  Jackal-fasluou,  in  the  wake  of  the  proper  beasfs  of 


HELL-FIRE  DICK    ENGAGES   IN   A    NEW    VENTURE.         121 

prey.  But  Dick's  genius  jver-ruled  the  rest  with  its  usual  po 
tency. 

"  'Twon't  do  !  That's  jist  the  way  with  you  !  You'd  all  start 
off,  after  the  fresh  Seer,  though  you  were  on  the  hot  scent  ot 
the  old  one,  and  jist  about  to  run  him  down  !  And  you'd  go 
to  the  Barony,  and  be  loading  yourself  down  with  more  than 
you  could  carry  ;  so  that  if  an  inimy  should  git  upon  your  track, 
you'd  have  neither  the  heart  to  fight,  nor  the  heels  to  run.  It's 
the  baggage-wagons  that  half  the  time  defeats  the  army.  Now, 
I'm  not  for  gutting  '  the  Barony,'  I'm  for  picking  up  only  what  I 
can  safely  put  away ;  nice  little  things  by  way  of  ornament ; 
rings,  and  seals,  and  breastpins,  and  the  like;  as  many  watches 
and  silver  spoons,  as  will  lie  snug  together  in  coat  and  breeches 
pocket ;  and  as  large  a  bag  of  gould  as  will  set  easy  on  a  nag's 
quarters.  It  may  be  that  there's  no  gould  at  the  house  to  be 
got  at.  They  hide  away  sicli  matters  pretty  closely  ;  and  then 
the  old  kurnel's  sich  a  d — d  obstinate  colt,  that  he'd  never  tell, 
even  though  you  was  a-cutting  his  tongue  out  with  a  sheep's 
scissors.  But  we  know  that  the  young  one  has  the  pure  kinage 
[coinage]  in  guineas,  to  the  tune  of  one  hundred,  or  thereabouts, 
and  we  know  that  he's  in  these  woods ;  and  hyar  [here]  you 
must  watch  and  wait  till  Brunson  and  Rodgers  come  in  with 
the  dogs;  and,  by  that  time,  I  hopes  to  be  back  with  you  and 
take  a  hand  in  the  hunt !  It's  only  a  short  wisit  that  I  means  to 
pay  the  kurnel  ;  and  if  the  men  and  dogs  were  ready,  hyar,  I 
shouldn't  think  of  going  to  '  the  Barony.'  But  I  kaint  bear  to 
be  sucking  my  thumbs.  I  must  be  a-doing ;  and  one  hour  or 
so  kaint  spile  our  chainces  in  the  hunt  after  the  young  buck." 

Of  course,  he  silenced  opposition,  as  was  his  wont.  He  gave 
his  instructions  in  brief  terms.  His  plans  had  been  promptly 
conceived,  as  is  always  the  case  with  the  determined  will. 

"  Hyar,"  said  he,  "  we're  half  a  mile  only  to  the  back  of  the 
garden  ;  and  the  garden's  but  a  small  distance  to  the  house. 
I'll  only  have  to  pull  down  a  feAV  rails  to  get  into  the  grounds, 
and  there's  a  smart  sprinkling  of  trees,  that  '11  cover  me  pretty 
close  till  I  gets  nigh  to  the  building.  Look  for  me  baick  in  a 
short  hour  and  a-hafe !  Keep  the  dogs  close  till  I  come  ! 
Skairt  the  line  of  fences.  Keep  one  of  the  fellows  stationed 
the  road  at  Fryar's  Bend  All  that  you've  got  to  do  is 


192  THE    FORAYERS. 

jest  to  keep  the  young  one  from  gitting  above  you.  That's 
all  !" 

"  S'pose  something  should  happen  to  you,  Dick  ?"  suggested 
Skin-the-Serpent. 

"  What's  to  happen  ?" 

"  Why,  s'pose  the  kurnel's  got  a  we'pon  hid  away  close  at 
hand  ?  He's  an  old  sodger  you  know." 

"  You  hear  Pete  Blodgit  says  he  haint !  Why  should  he  ? 
He  don't  think  there's  any  danger.  He  don't  calkilate  our 
chainces  just  now,  when  both  armies  is  so  far  above.  But,  if  I 
aint  back  here  in  a  short  hour  and  a-hafe,  then,  prehaps,  you'd 
better  ride  up  in  a  body,  and  ax  after  me.  That's  the  how  !" 

With  these  words,  having  satisfied  all  scruples,  silenced  all 
objections,  completed  his  instructions,  the  outlaw  departed  on 
his  audacious  adventure. 

He  rode  a  powerful  steed,  not  so  showy  as  useful,  and  he  was 
a  dextrous  and  fearless  rider.  Suppose,  in  his  case,  as  in  that 
of  most  of  the  common  people  of  this  country,  that  the  costume 
of  our  Dick  of  Tophet  was  of  ordinary  blue  homespun,  trowsers 
and  hunting  shirt,  yellow  fringed,  a  rough  and  ragged  coon-skin 
cap;  —  that  he  was  weaponed  with  broadsword  and  pistols,  like 
a  regular  dragoon;  —  as,  indeed,  he  had  been  —  and  on  both 
sides  of  the  war;  —  and  that  his  hirsute  visage  was  just  as  sav 
age  as  a  wild  grin,  a  sabre  cut,  untrimmed  beard,  unkempt  hair 
and  a  general  scorn  of  appearances  could  render  it; — and  you 
can  conceive  sufficiently  of  the  sensation  which  such  a  visiter 
will  surely  make  when  he  penetrates  he  parlor  of  Sinclair's 
"  Barony." 


NEW   SIGNS   IN   THE   SKY.  12< 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

NEW   SIGNS    IN    THE    SKY. 

BUT  tlie  slumbers  of  our  dragoon  were  slight  and  soon  broken. 
Very  brief  was  the  respite  which  Willie  Sinclair  had  seized 
from  the  necessities  of  war,  in  which  to  visit  the  old  familiar 
places  of  his  shildhood,  and  once  more  to  embrace  the  sisters  of 
his  love.  It  \vas,  of  course,  a  great  qualification  of  his  happi 
ness  that  he  was  not  permitted  to  approach  his  father ;  as  the 
reader  will  have  already  inferred,  from  our  hurried  sketching, 
he  was,  in  great  degree,  an  outcast  from  the  affections  of  the  old 
man.  Not  that  the  terms  between  them  had  produced  the  for 
mal  banishment  of  the  son  ;  but  that  they  were  of  such  a  nature, 
as  to  embitter  their  interviews  when  they  met,  with  such  sharp 
and  biting  controversies,  as  made  it  prudent  for  the  young  man 
to  keep  aloof.  For  months  they  had  not  met. 

The  father,  a  devoted  loyalist,  was  naturally  aroused  to 
extremest  anger,  because  of  his  son's  active  alliance  with 
the  cause  of  the  American  patriots.  That  he  had  had  fre- 
quejit  successes,  and  had  been  honored  with  rapid  promotion, 
in  consequence,  was  rather  an  aggravation  of  his  offence  than 
an  appeal  to  the  paternal  amour  propre.  When  he  heard  of 
him,  as  he  did  occasionally,  it  was  always  to  provoke  his  ire, 
no  matter  what  the  tidings.  The  report  of  his  son's  valor  and 
ability,  however  grateful  it  might  be  in  itself,  was  by  no  means  a 
subject  of  exultation,  when  these  qualities  were  exercised  against 
the  sovereign,  for  whose  authority  the  old  man  entertained  an 
almost  religious  reverence.  But,  even  this  cause  of  anger,  suf 
ficient  in  itself,  was  increased  by  another,  in  the  misplaced  af 
fections  of  the  young  man.  Colonel  Sinclair  was  a  natural 
aristocrat.  His  conventional  world  had  confirmed  the  despotic 
character  of  his  mind,  and  trained  him  to  regard  the  family  con- 


124  THE  FORAYERS. 

nections  as  involving  a  degree  of  scrupulosity,  which  forbade 
entirely  the  possibility  of  unequal  alliances.     Blood  was  always, 
with  him,  a  chief  consideration  in  the  affairs  of  the  affections  ; 
but  he  made  the  conditions  01  blood  to  depend,  as  is  the  too 
common  error  with  all  such  persons,  upon  genealogical  proofs 
merely; — never  once  recognising  that  beautiful   property    in 
Nature,  by  which  she  is  continually  repairing   exhausted  foun 
tains,  by  turning  in  upon  them  new   streams,  from   sources  of 
strength  and  virtue,  which  have  not  hitherto  been  known.     The 
repair  of  broken  cisterns  from  vulgar  clays,  is,  in  fact,  one  of 
her  great  remedial  processes,  for  the   regeneration  and  the  sav 
ing  of  decaying  stocks.     But  Col.  Sinclair  was  not  a  philosopher, 
and  between  his  passion  and  his  pride,  he  was  not  in  a  mood 
to  acknowledge  the  force  of  any  argument  which  told  in  behalf 
of  a  son  who  had  already  offended  both.     He  had  then,  as  we 
have  seen,  cut  himself  off,  temporarily,  from  the  gratification  of 
that,  precious  human  feeling,  which  might  have  gathered  new 
life  from,  and  yielded  new  delights  in  return  for,  the   embrace 
with  an  heir  who  had  sufficiently  shown,  to  the  eyes  of  all  other 
persons,  that  the  family  name  was  destined  to  receive  new  dis 
tinction,  and  not  discredit,  from  his  performances.     The  old  man 
sate  lonely,  therefore  ;  brooding  sadly,  in  a  still  continued  strug 
gle  between  his  wounded  pride,  and  the  only  half-hidden,  but 
fond  affection,  which  lay  warm  and  watchful  about  his  heart. 
His  was  the  self-torturing  sort  of  nature  which  perpetually  ex 
ercises  itself  in  irritating  its  own  hurts  of  mind  or  body. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Willie  Sinclair  had  that  morning 
found  a  grateful  proof  of  this  lurking  sentiment  of  love,  on  the 
old  man's  part,  in  the  agony  which  he  betrayed  when  first  told 
of  his  son's  danger  and  possible  death.  He  enjoyed,  in  that 
spectacle,  renewed  securities  in  behalf  of  that  parental  affection 
which  no  son  had  ever  valued  more ;  and,  with  his  own  heart 
bounding  with  gratitude,  and  his  own  eyes  overflowing  with 
tears,  it  must  be  forgiven  to  him  that  he  joyed  in  the  old  man's 
burst  of  anguish  which  spoke  much  more  truly  the  feelings  in 
his  bosom  than  the  words  which  ordinarily  fell  from  his  tongue. 
-He  loves  me  still  — his  heart  is  in  the  right  place!"  the 
youth  said  to  his  sister  when  they  were  alone  together  in  her 
chamber. 


NEW   SIGNS   IN   THE   SKY.  125 

"  Oh  !  yes !  I  felt,  all  the  while,  Willie,  that  it  mast  be  so 
In  spite  of  all  his  violent  speeches.  Though,  rcally;it  was  some 
times  terrible  to  hear  him.  It  was  his  gout,  I  suspect,  that  made 
him  so  bitter  of  speech  ;  and  the  visit  of  Captain  Travis  took 
place,  unhappily,  just  when  he  was  most  suffering.  Le  has  be 
sides  some  very  strong  prejudices  against  that  person." 

"  He  has  reason  for  them.  He  knows  the  weaknesses  and  er- 
lors  of  Captain  Travis,  whose  passion  is  a  love  of  money,  as  tha* 
of  my  father  is  family  pride. '  I  am  sorry  to  admit  that,  in  the 
indulgence  of  this  passion,  Captain  Travis  has  not  always  shown 
himself  scrupulous  of  propriety.  It  is  the  knowledge  of  some 
of  his  mal-practices,  while  on  the  Cherokee  expedition,  that 
makes  my  father  hold  him  in  such  scorn.  But  Bertha  will  rec 
oncile  him,  when  he  comes  to  know  Tier.  She  is  one  of  the 
purest  of  living  creatures,  and  with  so  much  power  too  —  such 
thought  as  well  as  purity  —  such  strength  as  well  as  grace  and 
beauty  —  that  I  feel  sure  of  her  influence  over  him,  as  soon  as 
she  has  the  opportunity  allowed  her  of  acting  upon  his  sense  of 
truth  and  justice.  She  will  disarm  him.  I  am  very  sure." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie,  with  a  brightening  face,  taking  her 
brother's  hand,  "  for,  Willie,  with  all  his  prejudices,  father  is 
just  in  the  end  —  only  give  him  time  and  all  will  be  right." 

"  Yet  he  has  tried  me  very  severely,  Carrie,"  responded  the 
brother  very  gravely. 

"  Ah !  Willie,  he  has  tried  himself  still  more ;  and  you, 
brother,  you,  too,  have  tried  him  !  Think  of  his  loyalty — that  he 
aas  borne  the  king's  commission — how  he  prided  himself  upon 
it,  and  how  keenly  he  must  feel  the  course  you  hav~e  pursued  in 
taking  up  with  the  liberty  party.  And  then,  think  of  the  trial 
to  his  social  pride  when  he  heard  of  this  engagement  with 
Bertha  Travis.  It  seemed  to  him,  Willie,  as  if  you  were  trying 
all  ways  to  crush  and  mortify  him." 

"  Ah,  Carrie,  you  are  right  to  teach  me  tnat  the  argument 
has  two  faces.  It  has  been  so  natural  and  easy  to  think,  all 
the  while,  that  I  was  the  one  whom  he  sought  to  crush  and 
humble." 

"  But  you  must  think  so  no  more,  Willie.  You  see,  now 
what  are  his  real  feelings.  Give  him  time,  I  do  not  despair  of 
seeing  him  as  fond  of  you  Bertha,  as  you  are  yourself;  if"— 


1-26  THE   FORAYERS. 

lierc  she  smiled  and  pressed  his  hand — "  if,  indeed,  she  answers 
the  description  you  give  of  her." 

"  What !  you  fancy  my  painting  that  of  a  self-deluded  lover  ?" 
''A  little !" 

"  Ancf  I  the  most  matter-of-fact  person  in  the  world ;  cool, 
cautious,  calculating,  with  no  more  fancy  than  a  plough-horse." 
''  I  suppose  a  plough-horse  has  his  fancies,  when  out  of  the 
ti  *ices,  and  after  an  hour's  browsing  in  pleasant  pastures.  I  give 
you  an  equal  degree  of  credit.  I  suppose,  could  he  speak,  he 
would  indulge  in  superlatives  about  his  elysimn  —  nay,  no  more 
protestations  !  Enough,  Willie,  that  she  is  your  favorite.  That 
is  enough  to  make  her  mine — to  make  me  believe  very  much 
as  you  desire." 

"  Well,  I  hope  for  an  early  opportunity  to  enable  you  to 
judge  for  yourself.  You  will,  all  of  you,  in  all  probability,  be 
compelled  to  cross  the  river  and  retreat  to  the  hills  of  Santee. 
The  war  will  soon  approach  this  quarter.  Rawdon  is  on  his 
retreat.  Greene  will  press  upon  his  heels.  Orangeburg  must 
be  one  of  the  places  which  he  will  seek  to  hold,  at  all  hazards, 
—  for  a  time,  at  all  events  —  and  there  -will  then  be  no  possi 
bility  to  escape  a  battle.  You  will  have  to  remove  from  this 
neighborhood,  which  will  then  be  covered  with  th-e  troops  of  both 
parties  in  turn.  Captain  Travis  will  be  under  a  like  necessity 
of  getting  his  family  out  of  the  way ;  and,  unless  he  is  more 
deeply  committed  to  the  British  than  I  believe,  you  will  prob 
ably  meet  on  the  hills." 

"  Do  you  suppose  father  will  leave  the  Barony  because  of 
this  approach  of  war?  He  will  spurn  the  idea.  It  will  be 
difficult  to  persuade  him  that  he  will  not  find  perfect  safety 
under  the  British  Lion." 

"We  must  teach  him  the  absurdity  of  such  a  notion  now — 
and  we  can.  The  day  of  his  perfect  faith  in  British  prowess  is 
pretty  much  gone  by.  He  can  not  deceive  himself  much  longer 
as  to  the  result  of  this  struggle." 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  see  that !  He  will  not  see  it !  He  does  not 
believe  your  assurances,  or  that  of  your  party ;  and  the  British 
maintain  appearances  well.  When  Lord  Rawdon  was  here  last, 
and  father  expressed  his  anxieties  in  respect  to  the  successes  of 
Marion  and  Sumter,  my  lord  laughed  at  them ;  spoke  of  them 


NEW   SIGNS   IN   THE   SKY.  127 

with  perfect  contempt ;  insisted  upon  them  as  gross  exaggera 
tions,- — the  small  performances  of  a  petty  outlawry  which  would 
be  crushed  at  once,  were  they  not  almost  too  insignificant  for 
attention." 

"  An4  my  father  believed  him  ]" 

"He  could  not  less.  He  desired  to  believe  him;  and  his 
lordship  seemed  to  be  of  unquestionable  authority.  The  rais 
ing  of  the  siege  of  Ninety-Six  confirms  him  in  the  belief." 

"  He  knows  not  then  of  the  British  abandonment  of  the  post 
as  soon  as  Greene  was  driven  off.  He  will  yet  see  fearful  proofs 
of  the  fruits  of  this  abandonment.  Under  the  escort  of  Cruger, 
more  than  two  thousand  of  the  wretched  loyalists,  men, 
women,  and  children,  their  entire  families,  are  on  their  way  to 
the  seaboard.  The  British  are  no  longer  able  to  protect  them 
in  their  homes.  Post  after  post  is  thus  abandoned ;  and  soon, 
the  same  future  awaits  the  post  at  Orangeburg.  Soon,  the 
British  army  will  be  confined  to  Charleston,  and  they  are  des 
tined  to  be  driven  thence  as  certainly." 

"  Not  if  they  receive  new  regiments  from  Europe !  Upon 
this  my  father  counts.  It  was  Lord  Rawdon's  assurance  that 
there  should  be  no  lack  of  troops." 

"  An  idle  one.  The  British  exchequer  is  exhausted.  The 
British  nation  is  prepared  to  refuse  all  further  subsidies.  They 
can  obtain  no  more  troops  from  Germany.  They  can  no 
longer  pay  them  if  they  could  get  them.  Their  best  hope  lay 
in  the  strength  of  the  loyalists.  The  game  was  to  make  one 
half  of  the  people  fight  the  other  half;  but  this  hope  is  failing 
fast.  Their  only  resource,  for  new  regiments,  is  Ireland,  and 
the  Irish  desert  their  ranks  almost  as  soon  as  they  take  the 
field.  Rawdon  can  no  longer  yield  his  confidence  to  his  own 
regiments.  The  fate  of  the  war  is  inevitable.  It  needs  only 
that  we  should  avoid  a  general  engagement.  If  we  can  pro 
long  the  struggle  for  six  months,  and  avoid  all  serious  disaster 
in  the  meanwhile,  we  triumph." 

We  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  Carrie  Sinclair  was,  her 
self  no  moderate  rebel.  She  sided  fully  with  her  brother  in 
his  principles  and  hopes.  Her  feminine  nature  could  not  ex 
actly  feel  his  confidence,  however ;  and  her  father's  prejudices 
and  passions  served  to  prevent  her  from  any  unnecessary  dis- 


liS  THE   FORAYERS. 

play  of  her  sympathies.  That  her  lover  wore  the  patriot  colors 
was  perhaps  an  additional  reason  for  the  faith  which  she  enter 
tained  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  She  was  a  willing  listener  to  her 
brother.  Her  soul  was  an  ardent  one,  and  she  lent  an  eager  ear 
to  his  narratives  of  the  struggle  in  sundry  places.  He  .brought 
down  the  progress  of  the  war  to  the  present  moment,  for  her 
^ntisfaction ;  and  she  soon  learned  to  feel  all  his  confidence 
That  she  was  gentle  and  submissive  when  with  him  —  and  with 
her  father — that  she  could  sympathize  with  the  one,  and  for 
bear  silently  with  the  other,  were  only  in  proof  of  her  filial 
and  sisterly  affections.  In  some  degree,  she  partook  of  the 
courage  of  her  race ;  and  she  loved,  much  more  than  she  could 
excuse  to  herself,  the  exciting  story  of  the  wild  struggle,  the 
gallant  charge,  the  audacious  adventure,  and  the  wild  attack. 
So  earnestly  engaged  were  the  two  in  these  narratives,  that  the 
signals  of  Little  Peter,  at  the  chamber-door,  were  thrice  re 
peated,  before  they  gave  ear  to  his  desire  to  communicate  with 
them.  When  he  was  admitted,  he  said  : — 

"Benny  Bowlegs,  Mass  Willie — bin  sen'  me.  He  da  look 
out.  He  say  'trange  looking  pusson  is  a-coming !  He  pull 
down  de  rye  fie?  fence ;  he  da  come  round  by  de  garden.  He 
hab  big  bone  black  boss,  and  he  'tan  [stands]  close  in  de  tick, 
at  de  bottom  ob  de  garden,  as  ef  he  bin  da  look  out  for  see 
wha's  a  doing  yer.  Benny  say  you  must  keep  close.  He  da 
watch  de  pusson  and  will  nebber  leff  'em  out  ob  sight." 

"  Where's  Benny  ?" 

"  He  da  follow  close  on  de  track  ob  de  'trange  pusson,  cub 
bering  hese'f  in  de  tick  [thicket]  for  watch  'em." 

"  Very  good.  Keep  close,  Peter,  and  don't  let  yourself  be 
seen,  unless  the  stranger  comes  up  to  the  house.  Should  he 
want  to  see  my  father,  admit  him,  but  don't  be  out  of  reach  and 
hearing.  The  fellow's  coming  in  on  the  rear  is  suspicious! 
Can  it  be  one  of  these  rascals?  Hardly!  He  would  hardly 
venture  thus  !  What  can  be  the  fellow's  policy  ?  If  Blodgit 
has  reported  me  absent,  they  would  certainly  seek  for  me  be 
low.  If  I  am  supposed  to  be  here,  one  of  them,  alone,  would 
hardly  make  the  venture.  You  did  not  see  the  fellow,  yourself, 
Peter  ?" 

"Nebber  sh'um   [see  him]   maussa.     Benny  sh 'urn,  and  tell 


NEW  SIGNS   TN  THE   SKY.  129 

me.  He  da  hide  in  de  t'ick,  bottom  ob  de  garden.  Benny  hide 
in  de  t'ick  belnV  em,  for  see  wha*  he  guine  do.  Arter  Benny 
tell  me,  den  he  gone  for  hide." 

"  Very  well  i  keep  about  the  house,  and  see  what  the  fellow 
wants,  should  he  approach.     I  will  be  on  the  alert,  and  keep  as 
close  as  possible.     All  right !     Go  now  !" 
Peter  disappeared. 

:<  Who  can  it  be  ?"  said  Oarrie,  uneasily. 
"As  it  is  but  a  single  man,"  answered  Willie,  "there  can  bb 
no  cause  for  uneasiness.     Still,  if  it  be- one  of  these  outlaws, 
they  may  have  some  deeper  schemes  in    agitation  than  I  can  at 
present  conceive.     If  I  could  get  a  glimpse  of  the  fellow,  on  his 
•  approach,  it  might  give  me  a  clue  to  his  purpose." 

And  he  rose,  and  looked  at  the  priming  of  his  pistols. 
"  He  is  making  his  way  from  the  rear.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Carrie,  I'll  steal  through  the  passage  down  the  private  stairs, 
and  conceal  myself  in  the  pantry.  That  will  enable  me  to  look 
out  upon  the  rear,  unseen.  Do  you  go  first,  and  see  if  the  coast 
is  clear.  It  will  not  do  to  meet  my  father  now  !" 

This  was  done ;  the  moment  for  descending  the  stairs  was 
propitious  — Colonel  Sinclair  still  brooded  in  the  breakfast 
room,  with  little  Lottie,  playing  with  her  doll,  before  his  eyea 
—  and  Willie  stole  down  the  private  stairway  into  the  pantry, 
through  the  sheltering  blinds  of  which  he  could  note  all  the 
approaches  in  the  roar  of  tlte  dwelling,  yet  remain  unseen 
himself.  Here  Carrie  left  him,  proceeding  to  the  breakfast- 
room,  whence  she  would  have  persuaded  little  Lottie  off  to  her 

lessons;  but  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes,  and  mildly  said : 

"  Leave  her  for  a  while,  Carrie.  It  does  me  good  to  see  her 
play,  and  hear  her  prattle.  An  hour  hence  will  serve  every 
purpose." 

Carrie  was  very  anxious  to  get  Lottie  up  stairs,  and  out  of  the 
way  of  danger,  but  her  argument  failed  with  the  old  man,  and 
she  did  not  venture  to  declare  the   apprehensions  which  she 
entertained.     She  rejoined  Willie,  and  he  pacified  her  uneasi 
ness. 

"Do  not  feel  troubled,  Carrie.  I  shall  not  fail  you,  you 
know.  If  there  is  any  danger,  Lottie  may  be  sent  out  of  the 
way  at  any  moment.  This  fellow,  whoever  he  is,  may  bo  ap- 


130  THE    FOR>YER~. 

preaching  on  some  sucli  mission  as  that  of  Blodgit.  At  aP 
events,  there  is  but  one  of  them,  and  T  fancy  I  shall  be  quite 
enough  to  manage  him." 

"  But  why  let  him  approach  at  all,  Willie  1  Why  not  show 
yourself  armed  —  all  the  muskets  are  here,  you  know,  and 
father's  rifle  hangs  in  the  hall  —  and  warn  him  off  at  the  muzzle 
of  your  gun  V1 

"  You  forget,  Carrie,  that  my  purpose  is  concealment  for  the 
present.  Besides,  if  I  show  myself  at  Joor  or  window,  who 
knows  what  rifle-shot*  I  may  draw.  The  dwelling  may  be 
reached  from  the  forest-cover  by  a  good  rifle ;  and  the  fellow, 
who  comes  alone,  is  probably  protected  in  his  progress  by  good 
marksmen.  No  !  no  !  It  is  best  and  safest  to  let  the  one  ras 
cal  come  and  empty  his  budget.  We  may  get  something  out 
of  him  which  it  will  be  useful  to  know.  My  game  is  to  get  in 
telligence.  I  have  been  doing  this  very  business,  day  and 
night,  for  Marion,  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and  there  is  much 
which  I  would  learn  of  this  neighborhood  and  Orangeburg, 
which  I  could  not  get  from  a  better  source  than  this  promises 
to  be.  Don't  you  become  fidgety,  now.  Come,  you  are  a  brave 
girl,  and  you  must  exert  yourself  to  keep  quiet.  Benny  Bow- 
legs  knows  his  business,  and  will  come  to  my  succor  should  he 
be  needed.  See  here,  my  horn  is  ready  to  sound  for  him  ;  and 
Little  Peter  is  sufficiently  watchful  of  Benny  to  play  his  part 
manfully.  All's  safe,  believe  m£;  only,  as  I  must  hold  myself 
as  much  from  sight  as  possible,  it  will  not  do  to  let  this  fellow 
suspect  my  presence.  We  must  wait  events.  Be  sure,  how 
ever,  that,  so  soon  as  it  becomes  necessary,  I  shall  make  my 
appearance.  To  lie  quiet  now  is  the  best  way  to  get  these  ras 
cals  into  my  power." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  with  them  1  Why  not  scare  them 
off?" 

"Ah!  you  are  not  yet  a  soldier!  You  can't  scare  Mi6*se  fel 
lows  off!  If  I  did  so  now,  they  would  be  upon  you  as  soon  ;:& 
I  disappear.  No  I  no !  Better  take  them,  and  pare  off  their 
claws.  They  are  giving  us  an  opportunity  to  do  so  ;  and  on!  v 
because  they  take  for  granted  that  I  am  now  skulking  in  yon 
der  fr>^t.  Shall  I  balk  them  ?  No !  no !  Carrie !  I  hope  t< 
bag  every  rascal  of  the  gang  before  nightfall !" 


NEW  SIGNS   IN   THE   SKY.  131 

This  language  encouraged  the  sister  ;  and  she  hurried  up  to 
her  chamber,  from  the  window  of  which  she  kept  watch  upon 
ibe  approacn  along  the  avenue,  according  to  her  brother's  in- 
stracticns. 

Willie  Sinclair  never  for  a  moment  left  his  own  place  of 
vatch.  But  he  was  not  kept  long  in  expectation.  The  outlaw 
nade  his  appearance,  emerging  from  the  rear  of  the  garden 
Sinclair  recognised  him  in  a  moment. 

'  The  audacious  scoundrel!"  he  muttered.  "It  is  just  the 
character  of  the  wretch  !  I  see !  He  knows  how  feeble  my 
father  is.  Blodgit  has  told  him  all ;  and  he  supposes  me  to  be 
below.  He  comes  with  open  eyes,  in  broad  daylight,  and  into 
the  trap.  Wolf !  It  shall  be  a  dead-fall !" 

And,  with  the  utmost  coolness,  Sinclair  disposed  his  pistols 
upon  the  table,  cocked  and  ready  ;  and  drew  his  sabre  so  gently 
as  that  no  sounds  should  reach  his  father's  senses  in  the  adjoin 
ing  room.  The  naked  weapon  he  leaned  up  in  the  corner,  con 
venient  to  the  grasp,  should  he  need  to  dart  through  the  door 
separating  the  two  apartments.  This  was  ajar— just  wide 
enough  to  admit  of  a  hand  — and  could  be  thrown  open,  without 
noise,  in  a  moment.  He  took  off  his  spurs,  and  laid  them  care- 
fully  aside.  His  moccasined  feet  gave  forth  no  sound.  Open 
ing  the  bosom  of  his  hunting-shirt,  lie  felt  for  the  handle  of  his 
coutcau  dc  chaste,  and  satisfied  himself  that  it  lay  easy  to  his 
grasp.  These  things  done,  he  composed  himself  quietly,  to 
wait  the  progress  of  events.  He  was  too  old  a  soldier  to 
endeavor  to  precipitate  them.  He  resumed  his  watch  at  the 
window-bund,  and  noted  the  deliberate  progress  of  the  outlaw, 
as  he  rode  up  to  a  tree,  dismounted,  flung  his  bridle  over  a 
swinging  limb,  and  marched  boldly  and  heavily  up  the  back 
stairway  into  the  great  passage  of  the  dwelling. 

It  would  have  been  quite  easy  for  Sinclair  to  have  shot  him 
down  at  any  moment,  on  this  progress  ;  but  Willie  did  not  de 
light  in  deliberate  bloodshed.  He  would  have  felt  a  degree  of 
fc'hame  at  such  a  procedure.  Besides,  though  an  outlaw,  Dick 
of  Tophet  might  now  design  no  evil.  At  all  events,  there  was 
sufficient  time  to  ascertain  his  purposes ;  and  these  purposes  it 
was  quite  important  that  our  major  should  learn.  There  was 
yet  another  consideration.  To  act,  in  any  way  decisively,  in 


132  THE   FORAYERS. 

the  business,  without  suffering  the  felon  hands  of  the  outlaw  to 
be  seen,  was  to  involve  himself  more  deeply  with  his  father. 
Dick  was  ostensibly  a  kind's  man,  and  Colonel  Sinclair  would 
require  some  very  certain  evidence  before  he  wou'.i  \oiicve 
him  capable  of  designing  evil  to  himself  or  family.  The  good 
old  man  fancied  that  every  professing  loyalist  entertained  th'j 
same  reverence  for  regal  authority  which  filled  his  own  bosom. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  Willie  Sinclair's  mind  as 
the  outlaw  approached ;  but  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  said  :  — 

"But  he  will  soon  grow  wiser!  Hell-fire  Dick,  believing 
himself  secure,  will  not  long  delay  to  show  his  true  colors.  I 
have  a  long  score  with  the  scoundrel.  It  will  go  hard  with  inc. 
but  I  pay  him  off  to-day  !" 


uANSOM. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

RANSOM. 


NfiVBlt  was  good  old  gentleman,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the 
otium  cum  dignitate,   less  prepared  for   further    disquiet   that 
incrning,  than    our   sturdy  Baron  of   Sinclair.     The  previous 
events  of  the  day  had  had  the  effect  of  subduing  his  mood  to 
one  of  a  quiet,  if  not  a  pleasant  melancholy.     The  excitement 
occasioned  by  the  supposed  danger  of  his  son  had  not  exactly 
passed  away ;  but  remained  in  some  degree,  a  cause  of  thought 
and  meditation,     The  old  man  was  brooding  over  past  and  pres 
ent,  anxious  and  somewhat  weary — n6t  so  much  vexed  as  sad 
—  musing  upon  disappointed  expectations,  and  with  those  doubts 
of  his  own;  and  the  future  of  his  family,  which  his  -ery  confi 
dence  in  the  ultimate  success  of  the  king's  arms,  was  calculated 
to  awak-jn.     B'jt  his  general  temper  was  subdued  for  a  season. 
He  was  partly  exhausted  by  his  previous  excitement,  ar)d  a 
brief  forbearance,  on  the  part  of  his  gout,  had  left  him  in  a  de 
gree  of  ease  of  body,  in  which  his  mind  could  brood  without 
suffering.     His  features  were  now  mild.     His  eyes  watched  the 
play  of  little   Lottie,   and  he  sometimes    answered   her   little 
queries,  with  a  childish  prattle  like   her  own.     Suddenly,  the 
child  approached  him  with  a  bound,  inspiring  him  with  the  ut 
most  terrors  for  his  foot.     He  could  not  stir  a  peg,  and  so  sensi 
tive  and  nervous  had  he  become  on  the  subject  of  this  delicate 
member,  that  he  waved  her  off  with  both  hands  as  he  cried 
aloud : — 

"  Keep  off,  Lottie,  if  you  would  not  hear  papa  squall  out." 
1  Would  it  hurt  you  so  very,  very  much,  papa  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think,  Lottie,  that  it  must  be  a  very  great  hurt, 
indeed  that  would  make  papa  squall  out  as  you  sometimes  do  ?" 

"As  I  did  t'other  night,  papa,  when  the  bat  flew  into  the 


THE    FOOTERS. 

window,  and  almost  into  my  face.  But  that  was  only  fr  nn 
sqare,  papa.  It  just  brushed  my  shoulder  with  its  wings." 

"  Yes,  Lottie,  and  it  scares  me  almost  as  much  when  you 
come  bounding  about  my  sore  foot  like  a  young  kitten." 

"  But  I  wouldn't  hurt  your  foot,  papa,  for  anything  Why 
don't  you  let  me  nurse  your  foot  ?  I'd  like  to  help  sister  Carrie 
when  she  dresses  it  and.  binds  it  up  for  you  in  the  morning  and 
fit  night.  I  can  dress  it  I'm  sure,  just  as  good  as  sis.  Look 
at  my  little  Sophy  now  See  how  I've  dressed  her,  and  she 
knows  how  well  she  looks.  Don't  you  see  how  big  her  eyes 
are,  and  how  proud  she  is  ?  And  this  is  all  my  draDsmjr.  I 
dress  her  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  know  just  how  tc.  put  on 
everything.  And  won't  you  let  me  dress  your  poor  u:d  foot  ac 
well  as  sis  ]" 

"  Ah  !  you  are  not  yet  able  for  that,  Lottie.  3<>me  day, 
perhaps,  if  papa  lives  till  you  have  grown  a  young  lady,  wj  shall 
then  see  what  sort  of  nurse  you  will  make." 

"  Thank  you,  papa  !  I  shall  be  so  glad."  And  as  she  drew 
close  to  his  side,  he  put  His  arm  about  and  kissed  her.  The  ol  1 
soldier  was  not  always  stormy." 

"There  now,  Lottie,  go  to  your  playthings,  rcy  dear;  I  fee^ 
nothing  but  fear  and  trembling  when  you  are  skipping  about 
me.  And  yet,  Lottie,  I  would  not  that  you  should  cease  to 
skip  —  only  skip  away  —  afar  off!" 

"  I  won't  skip,  papa  —  I  won't  go  near  your  foot.  ^  wouldn't 
hurt  you  for  anything." 

"Not  designedly,  Lottie  —  you  would  not.  But  children  art 
careless  and  thoughtless  little  creatures,  and  they  frequently  do 
mischief  without  meaning  it.  You  did  not  mean  to  let  tli€ 
parrot  out,  Lottie ;  nor  to  break  the  big  glass  shade ;  nor  tc 
upset  and  break  my  physic  bottle ;  nor  to  tumble  out  of  the 
piazza; — nor  to — " 

"Oh!  papa,  don't  tell  everything.  How  can  you  lemembci 
everything  against  me  so  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  remember,  Lottie." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  to  remember,  papa.  I  don't  like  it.  It 
makes  me  feel  so  ashamed." 

"  And  this  feeling  of  shame  is  a  good  thing  sometimes,  Lottie  , 
and  it  fc  very  well,  so  long  as  little  girls  and  boys  can  fee*  it 


RANSOM.  135 

It  will  be  worse  for  them,  if  the  tinue  should  ever  ccroe,  v  hen 
'!iey  cease  to  feel  it.  But,  go  to  your  play,  my  child.  .1  i  >.*e  to 
«ee  you  play." 

"1  am  not  playing  now,  papa ;  I'm  working!  Se.c-  Vhaf  a 
I  pautiful  dress  I've  just  made  for  little  Sophy.  I  msu  :  ;t  all 
myself.  Sis  only  cut  it  out." 

"  Very  pretty  !  How  many  of  your  sister's  Iresses  have  you 
:",it  up,  Lottie,  making  frocks  for  little  So|Ly  thnt  never  feels 
the  cold  ?" 

"  Oh  !  we  don't  cut  up  any  except  when  they're  not  fit  to  he 
worn  any  more  Sis  don't  let  me.  But,  papa,  do  you  really 
iike  to  see  me  about  you,  and  hear  me  prattle,  as  you  call  it  ?" 

"  To  hear  you  prattle,  very  much ;  to  see  you  too ;  but  not 
too  near  my  feet,  Lottie; — that's  all — remember  that!" — see 
ing  the  child  again  approaching  him. 

"Do  you  want  to  hear  the  song  I've  just  learned,  papa] 
Sis  taught  me.  It's  so  sweet  and  pretty  —  all  about 

"  The  little  gray  squirrel  sat  in  the  green  tree, 

And  I  looked  at  him  and  he  looked  at  me. — 
And  he  said,  'Little  girl,  do  you  like  as  you  look?' 
That  saucy  gray  squirrel  upon  the  green  tree." 

•'A  saucy  little  squirrel,  indeed  ; — but  enough  of  the  song  now, 
Lottie.  Some  other  time  you  shall  sing  it  all  for  me.  No 
doubt  i,  is  a  very  pretty  song,  if  Carrie  taught  you,  for  she 
L  iows  how  to  sing  pretty  songs,  and  to  make  them  too." 

"  She  made  that  one,  papa ;  and  she  made  another  that  she 
sings  herself,  all  about 

"  A  handsome  cavalier— ;! 

"Ha!  ha!  so  she  sings  of  handsome  cavaliers,  does  she? 
p.;'-1  TOU  would  like  to  sing  of  a  handsome  c-uaiier  too,  would 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  sis  would  only  teach  me;  b'it  sbt>  won't  teach  me 
that  song.  But  I  mean  to  watch  her,  and  listen,  when  she 
isn't  thinking,  papa,  and  I'll  learn  it  all  by  myself." 

"  What !  stratagem  already  ?  And  do  you  remember  nothing 
more  about  that  handsome  cavalier  ?" 

"Not  much  —  it  is  something  about  'a  handsome  cavalier,' 
and  '  a  baldric  blue,'  and  '\ow  'He  rode  at  early  dawn.'  ' 


136  THE    FO RATERS. 

"  Only,  I  suppose,  4  to  brush  the  morning  ile\v  !'  Well,  it 
won't  do  to  mangle  your  sister's  verses;  so,  when  you  have 
s'tolen  them  from  her  tongue,  then  come,  Lottie,  and  hide  them 
away  in  papa's  ear,  and  we'll  enjoy  the  stolen  fruit  together." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  papa !  That  will  be  so  nice.  Won't  it  make 
sissi  open  her  eyes  when  she  hears  it  ?" 

"  And  her  ear;  too,  if  you  sing  as  loudly  as  you  talk,  Lottie 
But  look  out  my  child,  and  see  who  it  is  in  the  back  piazza.  1 
hear  a  strange  voice  and  footsteps." 

"  I  don't  hear  anything,  papa." 

"  Go,  see,  little  Lottie,  and  come  tell  p.apa." 

The  child  put  down  her  toys  and  disappeared  in  the  passage 
Her  prattle  had  not  prepared  the  veteran  for  the  sort  of  visiter 
he  was  now  required  to  entertain.  Scarcely  a  moment  had 
elapsed  when  the  child  ran  back,  crying  aloud  : — 

"  Oh,  papa,  a  strange  man,  and  so  ugly  !" 

"Not  so  blasted  ugly  either,  little  Ninny!"  exclaimed  Dick 
of  Tophet,  who  had  followed  close  behind  her,  and  heard  her 
speech  distinctly.  He  entered  the  room  speaking,  dashed  his 
cap  down  upon  the  table,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair  directly 
opposite  the  cushioned  feet  of  the  colonel  The  veteran  opened 
his  eyes  widely  at  the  apparition. 

"  How  are  you,  old  buck,  this  warm  weather  ?" 

Never  was  mortal  astonishment  greater  than  that  of  our  baron 
at  this  impudent  intrusion  and  speech.  Little  Lottie  disap 
peared  in  terror,  flying  up  stairs.  For  a  moment  the  colonel 
was  absolutely  speechless,  'l^lie  other  resumed  :  — 

"  I  say,  how  are  you,  old  buck,  this  hot  weather  ?" 

"  Who  the  devil  arc  you  ?"  demanded  Sinclair,  finding  his 
tongue  in  his  increasing  mdiguation. 

"  The  devil  himself,  K  yon  choose,  come  to  !ook  ader  nic  y-ec/ 
pie!  How  are  you,  I  say.  li  this  brimstone  weather?" 

The  colonel  stretched  out  liis  hand  to  possess  himself  of  his 
gold-headed  cane,  the  only  weapon  near  him.  His  purpose 
was  apparent  in  his  eye.  But  the  ruffian  was  too  quick  for  him, 
and  too  watchful.  He  had  only  to  thrust  out  his  arm,  to  send 
the  cane  away  beyond  the  old  man's  reach.  It  was  a  heavy 
weapon  of  rosewood,  and  rolled  along  smoothly  over  the  ma 
hogany,  until  it  made  n.  final  plunge  from  the  table  to  the  floor 


RANSOM.  137 

The  fury  of  the  colonel  may  be  conjectured  —  not  easily  de 
scribed.  Ho  made  an  involuntary  effort  to  rise ;  but  Dick  of 
Tophet  had  a  formidable  ally  in  that  great  toe ;  and  a  sudden 
terrible  twinge  in  the  member,  at  once  taught  the  veteran  his 
utter  helplessness.  He  roared  out : — 

"  Halloo,  there  !     Benny  !  Little  Peter  !" 

"You  waste  the  wind,  old  fellow,  that  would  cool  your  hom 
iny.  The  niggers  are  all  off,  you  remember,  looking  for  your 
son's  body." 

"  My  son's  body  1     My  son  ! — " 

"  Yes !  He  that  was  murdered  last  night  by  Pete  Elodgit 
and  Hell-fire  Dick,  you  know.  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  And  you  be 
lieved  that  story,  old  boy  1  Well,  if  it  will  be  any  consolation 
to  you  to  know,  then  I'll  tell  you,  that  your  son's  safe  for  the 
present.  He's  in  powerful  good  hands.  We've  caught  him,  the 
young  rebel,  and  he's  in  a  close  hitch,  under  a  good-sized  hick 
ory,  not  half  a  mile  off.  He  is  still  alive,  and  kicking  ;  but 
whether  he'll  live  another  hour,  all  depends  on  you !  I've 
come  to  see  how  much  ransom  you're  ready  to  pay  djwn — 
guineas  —  on  the  hub!  How  much  gould  do  you  val?cy  hta 
neck  at  ?" 

The  father's  agonies  came  back. 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that  my  son  is  a  prisoner  ?". 

"  Fast  in  a  fix  —  tight  as  a  blacksmith's  vice  !" 

"  To  whom  is  he  a  prisoner  V 

"  Why,  to  me  and  my  brother  sodgers,  to  be  sure  !" 

"  And  who  are  you  ?" 

"  Who  am  I  ?  That's  a  pretty  question.  I  thought  the  ve  y 
iooks  of  me  was  enough  to  let  common  people  know  who  I  am 
But  you  don't  count  yourself  among  common  people,  I  remem 
ber.  You're  a  great  harrystocrai,  and  can;t  see  and  feel  M 
common  people  do !  Well,  I'll  teach  you  who  I  am ;  and  ef 
you  won't  1'arn  it  by  common  word  of  mouth,  I've  many  other 
ways  of  giving  you  onderstanding  before  I'm  done  with  you. 
Look  at  me  good,  old  fellow,  and  you  ,-ioes  Joel  Andrews  — 
that's  my  nateral  name,  you  see,  that  T  £ot  from  my  dad  and 
the  parson ;  but  ef  you  really  wan^s  ic  know  me,  as  the  com 
mon  people  knows  me,  the;>  I\  lli'.ll-five  Dick/  *U  y;;»i/ 
sarvice  !" 


138  THE   FORAYKRS. 

The  outlaw  seemed  to  entertain  a  certain  pride  in  liis  fear- 
"ul  nom  de  guerre,  and  his  head  was  uplifted,  and  his  arm 
stretched  out,  with  a  sort  of  theatrical  dignity,  as  he  ccncluded. 

"  And  are  you  that  bloody  villain  ?" 

"  Come  !  come !  no  bloody  compliments,  you  old  heathen 
harrystocrat !  Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head  !  You're 
speaking  to  one  of  his  majesty's  offcers,  let  me  tell  you ;  and, 
more  than  that,  as  I  tell'd  you  before,  your  rebel  son's  neck  is 
at  the  eend  of  my  stirrup-leather.  So,  be  as  decent  as  you  km 
be,  ef  you  have  a  mind  to  his  salvation." 

"You  in  his  majesty's  service?" 

"To  be  sure  —  why  not?  Don't  you  think  I  kin  cut  and 
slush  as  well  as  Tarleton  ?  and  ef  you  ever  seed  Huck,  you'll 
pny  I'm  jest  as  good-looking  a  person." 

"  In  his  majesty's  commission  ! — never  !" 

••  Ay  hy,  you  bloody  old  rebel !  do  you  doubt  my  word  ?" 

"  Hebe! !  Oh  !  scoundrel,  if  I  could  get  at  you  !"  And  the 
veteran  writhed  in  his  chair,  from  the  double  pangs  of  gout  and 
indignation. 

"  'Twouldn't  help  you  much,  old  fellow,  ef  you  could.  I 
could  lay  you  out  with  a  single  wipe.  So  you  needn't  git  into 
a  passion,  and  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  put  me  in  one.  I'm  as 
cool  as  blazes.  You  see  I've  got  your  rebel  son  in  a  hitch  — 
him  and  you  both,  pretty  much  in  the  same  sort  of  fix  —  he  to 
a  hick<-ry,  and  you  to  a  harm-chair  —  got  you  both  jest  where  I 
wants  you;  —  and  so  I  kin  afford  to  let  your  tongue  wag  a  bit. 
When  you're  tired,  you  kin  listen.  But  don't  go  too  fur  and  talk 
roo  long  ;  for  I  hain't  got  much  time  to  be  wasting  upon  you,  and 
I  ain't  the  nvjst  easy-tempered  person  in  a  marching  rigiment. 
T  jest  wants  you  to  see  your  true  sitivation,  and  Willie  Sin- 
Jair's  sitivation ;  and  then  we'll  talk  about  the  tarms.  For 
short  then,  you're  to  onderstand,  that,  ef  you  wants  to  get  him 
out  of  the  rope,  you've  got  one  thing  to  do  —  pay  up  —  shell 
out  —  ontwist  —  empty  !" 

And  the  outlaw  accompanied  his  speech  with  suitable  action, 
stowing  the  process  o'  li^h  urging  from  purse  and  pocket. 

The  fierce  old  colonel,  •  angry  to  kill,"  was  yet  enough  of 
the  old  soldier -to  discover  that  he  was  truly  "  in  a  hitch,"  as  the 
ruffian  described  his  own  and  son's  "  sitivation."  lie  was  held 


RANSOM.  139 

at   fearful  vantage   by  his  visiter.     He  had  no  weapon the 

faithful  staff  was  taken  from  his  hands  —  and  he  was  a  prisoner 
in  his  chair !  His  gouty  foot  kept  him  in  continual  anxiety  ; 
for  the  action  of  the  outlaw  brought  him,  at  times,  into  fearful 
propinquity  with  the  diseased  member.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Proud  as  was  his  stomach,  and  fierce  his  courage,  his  only  hope 
lay  in  temporizing  with  the  ruffian,  until  he  could  procure  suc 
cor.  Yet,  if  it  were  true  that  his  two  faithful  negroes  were  ab 
sent  from  the  plantation,  in  a  fruitless  search  after  a  son  v/ho 
was  a  prisoner  at  hand,  and  threatened  with  the  halter  —  whero 
was  his  hope  ?  The  cold  sweat  broke  out  in  thick  drops  over 
the  old  man's  face.  He  was  in  that  condition,  which  Benny  de 
scribed  as  one  in  which  he  frequently  found  him  —  ready  to  boil 
over.  Pmt,  though  ready  to  boil  over,  he  did  not  dare  to  suffer 
that  operation  now ;  and  to  keep  down  the  steam  of  his  passion, 
at  high  pressure,  required  all  his  strength  of  soul  and  body  upon 
the  valve.  It  was  amusing,  under  the  circumstances,  to  witness 
his  labored  efforts  to  look  and  speak  with  becoming  moderation, 
if  not  mildness. 

"Hem!  and  so  —  you  say,  sir  —  that  —  a  —  you  are  a  king's 
man  —  an  officer  in  his  majesty's  service?" 

"Ah!  your  tune  changes,  does  it?  You  kin  be  civil  of  your 
tongue  when  it  pleases  you !  That's  always  the  way  with  you 
overbearing  harrystocrats.  When  you've  got  the  whip-hand 
of  a  body,  you're  all  thunder;  but  when  you're  flat  on  your 
backs,  you  kin  lick  the  hand  of  a  poor  man  —  ay,  and  wash 
his  feet  for  him  !" 

Oh  !  how  the  proud  man  writhed  in  his  torture  of  min  i  and 
body  !  The  other  proceeded  — 

"  Hut  what's  it  to  you.  ef  I'm  king's  or  liberty  man  !  I'm 
king  myself,  hyar,  jest  now ,  and  I  Lev'  your  neck,  and  your 
son's  neck  both,  ef  I  please,  in  a  short  halter,  under  a  spreading 
limb.  And  who's  to  say  'stop,'  ef  I  say  '  swing.'  Kain't 
you  onderstand  yit  ?  That's  your  sitivation.  And  now,  for 
your  son's  ransom.  What  do  you  say  to  that"  Fork  up 
sleady  !" 

The  old  man  recovered  Hs  dignity,  though  he  spcke  with 
bitterness.  There  was  a  degree  of  humiliation,  to  which 
neither  his  own,  nor  his  son's  danger,  could  bend  his  soul? 


140  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Verily,  what  matters  it  what  you  are,  when  I  am  thus  1 
am  at  any  man's  mercy  !  I  can  neither  fight  nor  fly  !" 

"  That's  the  hitch  !  Didn't  I  say  that  you  were  in  a  fix 
tight  as  any  blacksmith's  vice  ?" 

"  You  call  yourself  a  British  officer  1  It  may  be  so  —  though 
it  will  be  very  long  before  I  shall  persuade  myself  that  his 
majesty  trusts  his  commission  to  such  a  person  as  yourself!" 

"  Take  care,  old  fellow  !  Every  imperdent  speech  of  yourn, 
adds  so  much  to  the  ransom.  Mind  what  you're  saying  ?" 

The  colonel  simply  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and  contin 
ued  : — • 

"  If  you  are  a  British  officer,  and  my  son  is  your  prisoner, 
you  have  no  power  upon  his  life.  Take  him  to  the  nearest 
post,  and  lodge  him  in  prison.  There  ends  your  duty.  You 
have  no  right  either  to  hang  or  ransom  " 

"  Don't  tell  me  of  rights,  old  Billzebub  !  My  right  is  hyar, 
and  hyar!"  —  touching  the  pistols  and  knife  at  his  girdle  — 
"  e.u.'l  these  rights,  hyar,  old  fiddlestick,  kin  take  your  cars  off, 
and  slit  your  pipe  for  you,  as  easy  as  talking !  You're  my 
prisoner,  too,  I'll  let  you  know,  you  d — d  old  rebel,  and  I'll  hev' 
a  ransom  out  of  you  for  all  the  family,  gal-children  and  all, 
jest  the  same  as  for  your  son,  before  I  let  a  hair  of  one  of  'em 
out  of  my  hands  !" 

The  steam  became  terribly  eager  for  escape ;  the  valves 
could  not  endure  the  strain ;  they  yielded. 

"llebel!"  roared  the  colonel,  his  loyalty  irritated  beyond 
measure.  "Rebel!  villain!" 

•'  To  be  sure,  and  a  d — d  imperdent  one  at  that !  Look  you, 
old  Sinkler,  I  knows  you  well,  and  all  your  kidney.  You're 
cue  of  them  bloody,  proud,  heathen  harrystocrats,  that  look 
upon  a  poor  man,  without  edication,  as  no  better  than  a  sort  of 
two-legged  dog,  that  you  kin  lay  the  ash  on  whenever  you 
see  him  lying  in  the  doorway.  And  your  son  is  jest  another 
sich  a  tyrant  heathen  !  And  you've  had  a  long  swing  between 
you,  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  riding  roughshod  over 
poor  men's  backs.  But  thar's  a  great  change,  thanks  to  the 
king's  niarcies !  and  the  good  time  cor  the  poor  man's  conic  at 
inst  !  —  and,  now,  we've  got  a-top  jf  the  wheel  !  We've  got 
the  ciuiince  at  the  good  things  of  thin  life;  and  wo  kin  pay  <>fT 


RANSOM.  141 

old  scores,  wagon-whip  and  hickory,  agin  your  nice  gould- 
headed  cane !  And  I'll  make  you  feel  both  afore  I'm  done 
with  you !  I'll  hev'  you,  and  all  your  family,  on  your  marrow  • 
bones  before  me,  or  the  rope  shall  stretch  with  the  weight  of 
some  of  you ;  and  them  we  don't  hang  to  the  swinging  limb,  we 
may  stretch  in  some  other  way  !  So  Icok  you,  by  the  old  Satan, 
and  Billzebub,  and  all  other  devils,  the  blackest  that  ever  come 
out  of  the  infarnal  pit,  1  swear  that  you  shall  buckle  down  to 
me  to-day!  Pay  up  —  let's  have  your  gould  and  silver,  and 
plate  —  call  down  them  gal-children  —  I  want  to  look  at  'em 
close; — call  'em,  I  say,  and  jest  you  prepare  to  give  up  all  I 
axes,  or  it's  a  short  cord  for  you,  aj>d  no  time  for  grace." 

The  boiler  burst ! 

The  strain  upon  it  could  be  borne  no  longer  !  With  a  des 
perate  effort,  the  veteran,  defying  pain,  strove  to  rise.  All  now 
was  iron  in  his  face  and  soul.  The  energy  and  courage  of  fifty 
years  reanimated  him.  His  eyes,  unblinking,  were  fastened 
upon  those  of  the  insolent  ruffian,  with  the  deadly  intensity  of 
the  rattlesnake.  Could  looks  slay,  that  one  glance  would  have 
been  fatal  to  the  wretch.  The  gout  was  forgotte-n  !  He  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  appeared  about  to  throw  himself  upon  the  out 
law,  when  his  limbs  failed ;  and,  though  his  agony  forced  not 
a  groan  from  his  bosom,  he  caught  upon  the  leaf  of  the  table, 
and  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

For  a  moment  speechless  from  pain,  he  hushed  every  other 
acknowledgment  of  his  sufferings,  and  recovering  himself  a; 
rapidly  as  possible,  with  eyes  as  stern,  and  voice  as  firm,  as  i.r 
he  /ere  superior  to  any  torture,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Dog  !  wretch  !  reptile  !  I  spit  upon  and  defy  you  !" 

And  he  seconded  the  speech  with  the  appropriate  action.  It 
^as  all  of  which  he  was  capable.  Of  course,  he  looked  for  the 
death-stroke  in  another  moment.  But  his  brave  soul  was  un 
blenching,  and  his  eye  sternly  braved  that  of  the  executioner, 
with  all  the  loathing  scorn  which  belonged  to  the  indignity  to 
which  he  had  subjected  him. 

With  mixed  how1  and  scream,  like  that  of  some  wild  beast 
goaded  with  spear  and  fire,  the  ruffian  started  to  his  feet,  drew 
his  knife,  and  was  about  to  spring  upon  his  victim  !  But,  even 
as  he  leaped  he  fell ! 


THE   FOEAYEItS. 


There  was  a  slight  rush  from  without  —  a  rustle  rather  —  a 
movement  so  light  and  rapid  as  to  seem  a  flash  —  then  a  blow 
was  heard;  dull  and  heavy  —  and  a  fall!  The  outlaw  reeled 
incontinently  backward,  sunk  hopelessly  against  the  table,  bore  it 
down  with  him  in  a  general  crash  and  lay  prostrate  —  the  blood 
gushing  from  mouth  and  ears—  stunned  and  silent  upon  the  floor  ! 


tHE    FAMILY    SKJDUP    AT   TUE    IJAIIONY.  113 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  FAMILY  GROUP  AT  THE  BARONY. 

THE  whole  affair  was  over  in  a  moment,  It  had  passed  so 
rapidly  that  the  colonel  had  not  recovered  himself  quite  —  not 
enough  for  comment  —  when  he  beheld  the  stranger,  to  whose 
timely  blow  he  owed  his  life,  stoop  down  to  the  stunned  and 
bleeding  ruffian,  and  proceed  to  strip  him  of  knife  and  pistols. 

"  Who  is  it,"  he  cried,  "  to  Avhom  I  owe  this  help  ?  Ha  ! 
ha  !  my  good  fellow,  whoever  you  are,  you  have  taken  lessons 
in  a  first-rate  British  school !  That  buffet  was  delivered  with 
proper  science  ;  well  aimed  to  raks  the  ear  upward  !  The  arm 
duly  shortened  for  delivery,  the  whole  body  working  upon  a 
pivot;  and  the  whole  weight  thrown  into  right  arm  and  shoul 
der  !  I  have  tried  —  I  have  taught  —  that  blow,  a  thousand 
times  myself!  Where  did  you  learn  it,  my  brave  fellow? 
Who  are  you?" 

"  What !  don't  you  know  me,  father  ?" 

"  Ha  !  Willie  !  Willie,  my  son  !  Is  it  you  ?  God  be  praifed 
—  you  are  safe!" 

Then,  with  entirely  changed  voice  :  — 

"But  how  the  devil  should  I  know  you  in  that  villanous 
dress  ?  Is  that  a  costume  fit  for  a  gentleman,  or  a  gentleman's 
son  ?  Is  that  the  uniform  which  your  rebel  authorities  provide  ? 
At  least,  they  have  some  idea  of  propriety.  The  dress  suits 
the  rabble." 

"  I'll  answer  you  directly,  sir,"  said  Willie  Sinclair,  "  as 
soon  as  this  rogue  is  properly  roped." 

By  this  time  both  Carrie  and  Lottie  had  rushed  down  stairs. 
They  stood  with  their  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  veteran.  Bu4 
Willie  Sinclair,  speaking  in  the  voice  of  authority,  sent  them 
off. 


14*  iHE   FORAYEK3, 

"  Back,  Carrie  j  .Ake  Lottie  with  you  !  Back  to  your  perch 
and  keep  a  sharp  oak  out !  We  may  have  the  rest  of  the  out 
laws  upon  us  before  we  know  where  we  are.  Back  !  Lose  not 
a  moment ;  I  will  sound  for  Benny  and  Peter  ! 

Thus  speaking,  Willie  Sinclair  winded  his  horn  merrily, 
while  stooping  over  the  prostrate  ruffian  whom  he  had  entirely 
disarmed.  He  did  not  forego  his  vigilance  a  moment.  The 
fellow  was  still  insensible.  At  least,  he  made  no  motion,  lying 
upon  his  side,  with  the  blood  still  trickling  from  his  ear.  In 
truth,  it  was  a  formidable  blow  —  scarcely  to  be  conceived  by 
those  who  are  ignorant  of  the  degree  of  power,  which  one  versed 
in  "  the  science"  can  throw  into  a  muscular  right  arm.  But  the 
rogue  might  be  "  playing  possum  "  nevertheless.  Such  fellows 
are  tough,  and  capable  of  enduring  many  such  buffets. 

"Have  you  killed  him  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"No  !  His  fate  saves  him  from  that !  The  gallows  is  not  to 
be  defrauded  of  its  prey  !  He  is  only  stunned." 

"A  good  blow,  Willie  —  well  delivered  !  I  taught  you  tLe 
stroke  myself.  I  remember  all  our  practice." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  and  I  thank  you  for  the  lesson,  sir.  It  has 
served  a  good  purpose  !" 

"  Ay,  sir ;  and  it  is  such  as  you,  thus  daily  receiving  proofs 
of  their  admirable  excellence,  who  would  be  for  abandoning 
all  our  best  British  institutions  !" 

The  young  man  laughed  merrily  at  the  solemn  imputation, 
as  he  answered  : — 

"  It  seems  not,  sir.  You  see  that  I  keep  some  of  them  in  full 
practice." 

At  this  moment  Benny  and  Little  Peter  both  appeared 

"  A  plough-line,  Benny  !"  cried  the  major. 

"You kill  de  blackguard,  Mass  Willie?" 

"  No  !     He  is  recovering  !     A  plough -line  !" 

Benny  was  already  prepared,  and,  with  Peter's  assistance,  the 
outlaw  was  roped  tightly,  hands  and  feet,  and  turned  upon  his 
back,  quiet  as  a  turtle  in  like  predicament. 

"The  bloody  scoundrel!" — quoth  the  old  man.  "  He  had 
me  in  a  hitch,  as  he  phrased  it !  But  his  present  one  seems 
rather  of  the  tightest  fashion  !" 

"  He  in   guiue  get  out  ob  dis  hitch,  mass    kurnel,  wha'  1  pu* 


THE  FAMILY  GROUP  AT  THE  BARONY.        146 

em  in,  by  he  own  teet'  and  fingers!"  said  Benny,  with  great 
complacency,  putting  his  foot  irreverently  into  the  sides  of  the 
outlaw. 

Dick  of  Tophet  now  opened  his  eyes,  which  were  very  glassy, 
and  one  of  them  bloodshot.  They  did  not  exhibit  much  intel 
ligence,  but  took  in  the  surrounding  aspects  slowly,  and  with  a 
stupid  sort  of  stare.  Gradually,  he  seemed  to  be  recovering  his 
senses.  He  endeavored  to  draw  up  his  legs  and  stretch  out  his 
arms ;  and  thus  acquired  a  full  knowledge  of  his  bonds.  His 
constraints  brought  back  his  consciousness.  He  felt  his  "  siti- 
vation  "  evidently  ;  but  he  was  too  old  a  ruffian — of  a  nature 
quite  too  hard  —  to  show  any  fear  or  feeling.  He  stared  stead- 
liy  into  the  faces  about  him,  with  a  sort  of  scowling  uncon 
cern. 

"  Take  him  off  to  the  lower  story,  boys,"  said  Willie,  "  and 
give  him  a  taste  of  rum  or  brandy.  Soak  a  cloth  with  the 
liquor,  and  put  a  bandage  about  his  head.  Then  be  off,  on  your 
watch  again  !" 

The  negroes  swung  the  outlaw  up,  by  arms  and  feet,  and  he 
was  carried  down  into  the  brick  basement  of  the  dwelling.  His 
head  was  bandaged,  and  he  eagerly  swallowed  the  liquor  that 
was  poured  down  his  throat.  Willie  Sinclair,  having  seen  him 
safely  shut  up,  returned  to  the  dining-room.  Carrie  and  Lottie 
were  also  now  permitted  to  come  down  to  the  reunion  of  the 
family,  as  soon  as  the  two  negroes  had  resumed  their  places  of 
watch.  Was  that  reunion  now  to  be  a  grateful  one  ?  We 
shall  see. 

Once  more  the  baron  sate  with  all  his  children  around  him. 
He  had  resumed  his  composure.  His  cushions  were  restored  ; 
his  game  leg  was  again  put  at  ease  —  and  the  two  girls  safe 
beside  him.  Willie  Sinclair  took  a  seat  as  composedly  as 
the  outlaw  had  done,  occupying  nearly  the  same  situation,  di 
rectly  in  front  of  his  father;  and  the  two  surveyed  each  other 
for  a  while,  without  speaking.  At  length  the  old  man  broke 
silence : — 

"So,  sir — you  think  you  have  done  great  things  by  your  per 
formances  to-day  !" 

"  Not  great,  sir.  If  I  think  about  the  matter  at  all,  with  any 
gratification,  it  is  only  because  I  have  been  able  to  be  of  some 


146  THE    FORAYERS. 

little  service,  sir,  where  I  owe  much  duty,  and  feel  the  most  im 
bounded  Jove." 

"  Little  service,  sir  !     You  saved  my  life  1" 
"  Very  likely,  sir.     I  think  so  !" 

"  You  came  in  the  nick  of  time,  Willie  Sinclair  :  —  in  the  very 
nick  of  time  ;  — but  why  were  you  absent  at  any  time  1  That 
is  the  question,  sir  V 

"  It  is  one,  sir,  that  we  need  not  reargue." 
"Well,  sir,  as  you  please,"  said  the  other  stiffly.  "To 
shrink  from  arguing  one's  own  cause  is,  perhaps,  the  best  evi 
dence  of  its  worthlessness  ! — and  I  am  willing  to  admit,  sir, 
that  you  delivered  an  admirable  buffet ;  — not  only  well-timed, 
but  well  delivered  !  But  who  taught  you  that  buffet,  sir  ?  Who 
was  it  that  had  you  carefully  lessoned  by  the  best  boxer  m  old 
England?  Shame  on  you,  sir ;  shame  on  you— to  fly  in  the 
face  of  your  teacher,  and  strike  at  the  very  bosom  from  which 
you  drew  your  nurture  !" 

"  My  dear  father  — lot  us  talk  of  something  more  pleasant  to 
both  parties.  It  is  not  often  that  we  meet,  and  you  know  that  we 
shall  never  agree  upon  this  subject.  Let  us  think  of  more  grate 
ful  topics.  And,  to  begin,  pray,  let  me  ask  —  have  you  none  of 
that  old  Madeira  left,  sir  —  Hopson's  brand  — that  famous  pale 
old  Madeira  1  I  confess  my  mouth  waters  for  a  smack  of  that 
gentle  creature.  She  was  always  a  favorite  of  mine,  and  after 
the  rough  work  of  the  last  half  hour,  I  feel  as  if  she  would  be 
particularly  grateful  to  my  palate  !" 

"  What !  do  the  tastes  of  a  gentleman  still  survive  in  the 
bosom  of  a  rapscallion  rebel  I  They  should  be  encouraged. 
Get  us  a  bottle,  Carrie,  my  dear,  out  of  the  garret.  You  know 
the  brand.  Don't  shake.  Decant  it  carefully.  The  fellow 
deserves  a  drink — the  best  reward,  perhaps,  of  a  prize-fighter." 
And  the  veteran  laughed  — with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  great 
blue  eye  — arched  as  it  was  with  bushy  brows  —  and  a  pleasant 
twist  of  his  still  rosy  lips.  Who  could  fancy  beneath  that 
countenance  a  hard  and  relentless  nature  1  Who  'could  ^  fail  to 
see,  in  that  genial  smile,  that  his  son  was  the  apple  of  his  eye  ? 
Nature  was  declaring  herself  at  this  moment,  at  every  hazard. 
The  old  man  was  by  no  means  so  tough  as  at  forty -five.  The 
•xcitements  of  the  day  — his  gout  — all  had  unsettled  him;  and 


THE    FAMILY    GROUP    AT   THE    BARONY.  141 

his  mind,  in  its  workings  —  a  combative  and  pugnacious  mind    - 
was  in  temporary  suspension.     The  blood,  the  heart,  wore  con: 
aratively  at  liberty  to  argue  as  they  phased,  and  they  took 
Advantage  of  the  opportunity. 

But  not  for  long !     Willie  Sinclair  had  outraged  all  the  old 
man's  notions  of  propriety  —  his  faith,  his  loyalty  —  the  pre 
scriptive  pride  of  numerous  generations    -his  own  individual 
sentiments  and  feelings,  which  a  social   aristocracy  had  long 
nourished  into  absolute  laws.     Besides,  our  veteran  was  of  pure 
Saxon  —  sanguine  temperament.     He  was  off  in  a  flash  !  never 
long    at    one    point,   constantly    veering    with    every   impulse, 
and   no  more  to  be  fixed  than  the  well-oiled  vane  upon  the 
house-top.     Don't  suppose,  by  this,  that  we  mean  to  describe 
him  as  capricious  of  principle  —  only  of  emotion.     Never  was 
man  more  honorable,  or  more  steadfast  to  the  polar  star  of  truth 
aiui  ji.s;i  -e,  than  the  elder  Willie  Sinclair.    We  have  seen,  that, 
with  'laatli  staring  him  in  the  face,  without  help  or  remedy,  he 
;  et  scorned  to  make  a  single  concession,  for  safety, to  the  brutal 
and  exac;ing  insolence  of  the  outlaw  whose  knife  threatened 
his  throat.     Death,  by   any  process,  was    preferable  to  this! 
Though  our  colonel  was  obedient  to  his  impulses,  yet  these  im 
pulses  were  all  tuned  and  regulated  by  his  habitual  recognition 
of  moral  and  social  law.    All  his  instincts  —  and  there  are  moral 
as  well  as  animal  instincts  — pity  that  we  study  them  so  little, 
or  so  seldom  allow  for  them  — were  those  of  justice,,  faith,  loy 
alty  !     lie  was  a  good  sample  of  the  best  English  squirearchy, 
when  the  squirearchy  of  England  was  legitimate  — in  the  days 
of  Falkland  and  Hampden  — frank,  hearty,  honest  — stubborn, 
it  may  be,  for  stubbornness  is  somewhat  necessary  to  virtue 
itself— but  no  simulacrum — no  mere  sham,  the  miserable  mock 
ery,  not  the  semblance,  of  what  was  an  honored  and  a  living 
Hi  ing. 

The  wine  was  brought,  bright,  clear,  amber-like,  and  smiling 
through  the  crystal  glass  like  e  -ening  sunshine  in  the  eyes  of 
beauty. 

"  Shall  I  fill  for  you,  sir  ?"  quoth  the  major,  taking  up  the 
decanter. 

"  It  is  scarce  possible  to  deny  myself,"  answered  the  veteran, 
•  yot."  — with  a  grunt  — "I  shall  pay  the  penalty  if  I  drink 


148  THE   FORAYER8. 

This  confounded,  gout.     It  destroys  all  the  finer  tastes  of  th* 
gentleman." 

"  His  privileges  rather,"  answered  the  son.  "  But  one  glass 
vill  hardly  trouble  you,  and  I  doubt  if  this  bright  liquor  is  a  bit 
Qiore  unfriendly  to  tkie  gout  than  your  tea  and  coffee." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  matter,  sir?  —  but  fill  —  fill ! 
I  will  venture  upon  a  single  glass  only,  and  shall  hope  for  im 
munity  in  sinning,  as, from  necessity,  I  forbear  the  full  extent 
of  my  desires.  There  was  a  time,  Willie,  when  I  could  no  more 
have  paused,  the  taste  once  taken,  till  the  bottle  was  empty, 
than  I  could  have  flown.  Sir  —  the  king's  health'  W7ill  you 
drink  that?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  why  not !  You  do  not  object  to  my  additional  wish 
that  he  may  soon  attain  his  proper  senses  and  temper,  as  well 
as  his  health." 

"  D — n  your  amendment,  sir,  and  drink  as  you  please ! 
There  will  never  be  an  increase  of  sense  in  your  case,  I  fear  " 

"  Well,  sir,  that  should  trouble  neither  of  us,  so  long  as  what 
I  have  suffices  for  the  preservation  of  my  tastes.  You  see,  I 
have  by  no  means  lost  my  relish  for  this  goodly  spirit,"  and  he 
refilled  his  glass  as  he  spoke. 

"  What  do  they  give  you  to  drink  in  camp  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  puzzle  you !  Wre  have  a  beverage  in  camp, 
sir  —  that  is  when  we  have  any,  that  is  probably  very  much 
(ike  the  nectar  of  the  ancients  —  born  of  the  sun  and  of  the  dew; 
—  of  night  and  noonday  in  equal  proportions;  —  which  at  once 
fires  and  subdues  ;  —  wings  you  to  the  stars,  yet  puts  you  com 
fortably  to  sleep  on  a  bed  of  earth  that  does  not  need  to  be 
spread  with  moss." 

"You  are  not  speaking  of  Jamaica?" 

"  No,  sir  :  I  rather  prefer  the  Jamaica  when  I  can  get  it,  to 
this  potent  liquor.  The  Jamaica  is  not  without  other  quali 
fies  which  I  somewhat  affect.  But  our  opportunities  of  judging 
of  the  one  are  too  infrequent  to  prevent  us  from  a  very  warm 
appreciation  of  the  other " 

"It  is  Hollands  !" 

"  No  !  It's  birthplace  is  much  more  picturesque.  There  is 
a  beautiful  river,  sir,  of  our  sister  state,  Virginia " 

.'•  Colony,  sir " 


THE    FAMILY   GROUP   AT   THE   BARONY. 

"  A*  you  please  —  state  or  colony  —  the  political  position  of 
the  region  has  no  sort  of  effect  upon  the  qualities  of  this  goodlj 
beverage,  which  derives  its  popular  name  from  a  beautiful  river 
of  Virginia,  which  rises  among  the  Laurel  mountains  —  famous 
birthplace  —  runs  north  for  three  hundred  miles,  and  loses 
itself  at  last  in  the  Ohio,  which  it  infuses  with  new  virtues. 
Its  waters  are  not  waters,  but  virtues,  or  they  fable  greatly 
who  tell  us  that  this  beverage  either  oozes  from  its  banks, 
or  is  borne  onward  undiluted  by  its  currents.  It  is  scooped 
up- 

"  What  nonsense  !     What  is  the  name  of  this  river  ?" 

With  profound  gravity  the  other  replied  to  the  question : — 

"  Monongahela !" 

"  Pshaw  !  and  you  have  been  prating  all  the  time  of  whiskey  ! 
—  the  most  infernal  of  all  drinks  that  burn  up  human  vitals! 
No  wonder  you  smack  your  lips  with  new  life  at  the  taste  of 
Madeira." 

"  You  are  right,  sir.  Monongahela,  though  quite  popular  in 
camp,  is  by  no  means  a  favorite  of  mine.  In  spite  of  its  divine 
origin  and  pretty  name,  I  prefer  Madeira.  Sir,  I  do  myself  the 
honor  to  drink  the  health  of  my  father  in  a  bumper." 

And  the  action  seconded  the  word. 

"  Faith,  Willie,  at  this  rate,  you  will  need  no  help  of  mine  in 
finishing  the  bottle.  But  you  are  welcome.  It  will  help  to 
show  you  what  you  forfeit  by  your  insane  politics.  By  the 
way,  talking  of  your  camp  —  have  you  any  camp  left  any 
where? —  any  foothold,  swamp  or  highland,  in  which  you  keep 
your  ground  ?  If  I  err  not.  Lord  Kawdon,  at  last  advices,  had 
driven  your  Yankee  general  wholly  out  of  sight.  And  these 
garments  in  which  you  now  appear  !  Tell  me,  my  son,  are  you 
not  a  fugitive?" 

This  was  said  with  great  concern.  Meanwhile,  our  major  of 
dragoons  had  taken  little  Lottie  into  his  arms,  and  she  was 
prrchod  upon  his  knee,  with  her  head  nestling  lovingly  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  A  fugitive !" 

"Ay,  sir,  a  fugitive  —  flying  from  danger  —  pursued  by  su 
perior  forces —  your  own  forces  utterly  dispersed — a  rebel  in 
danger  }f  the  rope  —  a  fugitive  from  justice  f" 


150  THE   FORAYERS. 

The  major  put  down  the  child,  and  rubbed  his  hands  merrily 

"Well,  sir,  you  will  give  me  shelter1?" 

"  I  know  not  that  I  do  not  make  myself  criminal  in  doing  so ; 
but  I  trust,  sir,  that  I  am  not  without  influence  in  his  majesty's 
army  —  my  known  loyalty — my  past  services  —  will  enable 
me,  I  trust,  to  secure  your  safety  —  your  pardon.  But  only  on 
condition,  Willie,  that  you  are  truly  repentant  —  that  you  re 
nounce  your  rascally  associates " 

"  It  does  not  need,  my  dear  father.  I  trust  that  I  shall  never 
seek  to  purchase  mere  safety  by  the  sacrifice  of  honor;  trust 
still  more  earnestly  that  my  father  will  never  des'Tiul  to  the 
necessity  of  proposing  or  encouraging  such  sacrifice." 

The  father  absolutely  groaned,  whether  from  gout  or  reflec 
tion  it  is  not  needful  that  we  inquire.  The  major  of  dragoons 
continued  :— 

"  No,  sir ;  I  am  in  no  sort  of  danger.  The  only  representa 
tives  of  his  Britannic  majesty  in  these  precincts  at  present  arc 
of  a  class  that  is  much  more  apt  to  endanger  you  than  me.  You 
have  had  a  taste  of  the  quality  to-day." 

"  What,  sir,  you  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  this  atrocious  out 
law  serves  under  the  standard  of  my  sovereign  ?" 

"  You  heard  his  own  boast  to  that  effect." 

"But  he  lied,  sir  —  lied  in  his  throat.  He  is  a  scoundrel,  an 
outlaw,  a  miserable  marauder  and  plunderer." 

"  Very  true ;  but  it  is  not  the  less  true  that  he  has  been,  and 
is  still,  I  believe,  in  the  service  of  the  British  general.  He  is 
absolutely  a  sort  of  officer,  and  was,  to  iny  knowledge,  at  one 
time,  a  sergeant  of  that  efficient  corps  of  rangers  to  which  his 
lordship  of  Rawdon  and  Moira  gave  the  title  of  Congaree  fora 
gers." 

"Lord  Rawdon  employ  such  rascals  —  never!" 

"Nay,  his  lordship  is  not  in  a  situation  to  scruple  at  any 
qualities  in  his  levies.  He  is  only  too  well  pleased  to  fill  the 
gaps  in  his  regiments  with  any  sort  of  cattle.  His  lordship 
thinks  with  Falstaff,  that,  if  good  for  nothing  else,  they  are  at 
least  excellent  food  for  powder." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  there  is  a  lack  of  troops  in  the 
British  army?" 

"  A  most  alarming  one  " 


THE    FAMILY    GROUP    AT   TILE    BARONY.  151 

"  Since  when  ?  He  has  a  force,  I  am  sure,  quite  adequate  tr 
all  his  purposes." 

"Yes — if  they  be  retreat,  flight,  and  the  loss  of  the  country 
—  adequate  to  nothing  else,  sir." 

"  What !  and  when  he  has  just  driven  your  Yankee  black 
smith  general  out  of  sight  —  out  of  the  colony  !" 

"  You  get  intelligence  slowly  here,  my  dear  father,  or  it  is 
manufactured  at  the  wrong  mint.  Are  you  not  aware  that  Lord 
Rawdon  has  abandoned  Ninety-Six,  almost  as  soon  as  he  re 
lieved  it?" 

"  The  devil  he  has  !     I  don't  —  I  won't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  Very  well  !  You  will  see  in  sufficient  season  for  yourself. 
Why,  sir,  he  is  even  now  in  full  retreat ;  and  now,  Colonel 
Cruger  is  only  lingering  at  Ninety-Six  to  collect  the  loyalists 
and  all  their  families,  and  bring  them  off  from  a  region  which 
has  grown  quite  too  hot  to  hold  them.  We  are  soon  about  to 
witness  the  melancholy  spectacle  of  the  exodus  from  their  homes 
of  an  entire  colony,  men,  women,  and  children,  numbering 
thousands,  who,  committed  to  the  fortunes  of  the  British  army, 
are  destined  to  share  and  anticipate  their  fate." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  all  this  is  simply  ridiculous." 

"Why,  sir,  have  you  not  seen  the  fall,  one  by  one,  of  every 
British  post  in  the  interior.  Rawdon  abandons  and  burnn 
Camden  —  Forts  Watson,  Motte — the  posts  at  Granby,  Augusta, 
nnd  Silver  Bluff,  all  succumb;  —  by  a  prodigious  effort,  em 
ploying  almost  all  his  force,  leaving  Charleston  to  a  guard 
rather  than  a  garrison,  he  relieves  Ninety-Six,  and  that  he  is 
obliged  to  abandon  also.  In  a  few  days  he  will  reach  the 
Congarees  in  full  retreat ;  and  you  may  look  to  see  him  making 
a  post  of  rest,  before  long,  of  Orangeburg,  or  possibly,  the  Sin 
dair  Barony,  on  his  flight  to  the  seaboard." 

"  Spite  of  all  disaster,  sir,  Lord  Rawdon  shall  be  welcome  to 
Sinclair  Barony,  and  if  need  be,  to  avert  the  event  which  you 
threaten,  its  master  and  all  his  slaves  shall  arm  for  the  crown. 
It  is  not  in  a  moment  of  peril  that  I  will  abandon  that  standard 
ander  which  I  have  grown  to  manhood." 

"  I  should  be  the  last  person  in  the  world,  my  father,  to  wish 
to  see  you  do  so.  God  forbid  that  in  any  exigency  a  man 
should  abandon  his  principles.  You  see  things  with  other  eyes 


152  THE    FO RATERS. 

tlian  mine,  and  y.m  see  them  honestly,  though,  as  I  think, 
through  a  false  medium.  But  you  are  to  adhere  to  what  you 
recognise  as  true.  You,  sir,  must  also  feel  that  I  am  required 
Vy  the  laws  of  conscience  to  obey  a  similar  necessity.  It  is  a 
melancholy  necessity,  my  dear  father,  which  divides  us  in  this 
war,  but  it  is  not  the  less  a  necessity  with  both  —  one  which 
duly  results  from  the  very  exercise  of  the  best  virtues.  Be 
lieve  me,  sir,  you  can  not  have  endured  more  mortification  than 
I  have  pain,  in  the  choice  which  renders  me  heedless  of  your 
sympathies  and  desires." 

"Ah!  Willie,  Willie!"  murmured  the  veteran  tenderly  — 
"  it  is  a  cruel,  cruel  dispensation.  Why,  my  son,  could  you  not 
feel  with  me,  think  with  me,  follow  the  course  which  I  have 
taken,  sustain  the  banner  which  I  have  borne." 

"  It  could  not  be,  sir  !  What  was  right  with  you,  and  in  your 
day,  would  be  wrong  in  mine." 

"  How  is  that  possible,  sir  ?  What  is  right  yesterday,  is 
right  to-morrow  —  right  for  a  thousand  years  —  right  for  eter 
nity." 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  simple  morals  that  would  be  quite  true,  but  not 
in  respect  to  the  policy  of  nations.  With  these,  right  changes 
aspect  according  to  political  necessities,  and  the  altered  condi 
tions  of  states.  There  is  one  truth,  sir,  which  always  eludes  the 
class  to  which  you  belong  " 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?" 

"  That  the  American  colonies  have  passed  through  their 
minority.  A  people  who  are  able  to  maintain  themselves 
against  foreign  pressure,  have  survived  the  necessity  of  foreign 
rule.  The  mental  and  social  developments  which  enable  them 
to  defend  themselves  by  arms,  are  in  proof  of  resources  which 
revolt  at  foreign  dominion.  If  the  American  mind  is  equal  to 
its  own  necessities,  it  is  adequate  to  its  own  rule.  If  we  no 
longer  need  English  armies  for  our  protection,  we  no  longer 
need  English  mind  for  our  government." 

"  But  this,  sir,  is  the  argument  of  ingratitude.  You  forget  the 
past,  sir  —  the  immense  debt,  arms,  men,  money,  all  means  and 
appliances,  for  strength  and  safety,  which  we  owe  to  the  mother- 
country." 

"  No,  sir,  it  is  Britain  that  forgets.     We  have  forgotten  notn- 


,  THE  FAMILY  GBOUP  AT  THE  BARONY.        163 

iiig.  Britain  had  a  right  to  expect  our  gratitude,  but  not  the 
sacrifice  of  our  liberties.  That  you  should  lend  me  money  — 
nay,  give  it  —  protect  me  in  weakness  —  help  and  cherish  me  in 
sickness — gives  you  no  right  to  enslave  me  for  ever  for  these 
lervices." 

"  Don't  talk  of  slavery,  sir,  taxation  is  not  slavery." 

"  The  denial  of  our  right,  sir,  is  the  worst  slavery,  and  this 
was  the  error  and  offence  of  Britain.  It  proved  her  to  be  neither 
just  nor  wise.  But  do  not  let  us  glide  into  the  renewal  of  old 
discussions.  They  can  not  serve  us  now.  They  can  not  change 
your  habit,  nor  unsettle  my  principles.  Let  us  talk  of  other 
things  —  of  home,  sir,  of  yourself,  of  the  girls  —  of  any  subject 
but  this  which  divides  us." 

The  veteran  sighed  deeply. 

"  Willie  Sinclair,  my  son,  I  sometimes  feel  that  I  could  curse 
you,  so  bitterly  do  I  suffer  from  the  choice  you  have  made 
against  my  sovereign." 

"Do  not  that,  my  dear  father  —  do  not  that!"  answered  the 
major  tenderly,  as  he  took  the  old  man's  hand,  and  carried  it  to 
his  lips.  The  eyes  of  both  were  filled  with  tears.  Carrie  Sin 
clair  stole  round  and  passed  her  arm  about  the  veteran's  neck ; 
little  Lottie  encircled  that  of  her  brother,  intuitively,  in  the 
same  manner.  The  father  audibly  sobbed  as  he  replied  : — 

"  But  that  I  know  you  to  be  honest,  Willie,  I  could  have  cursed 
you,  and  driven  you  for  ever  from  my  sight.  But  you  have 
always  been  truthful,  and  spoken  the  truth ;  and  I  honor  you, 
sir  —  honor  you,  though  your  course  has  sometimes  maddened 
me;  —  and  I  rejoice  in  your  valor  and  good  name,  Willie 
Sinclair,  as  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  though  your  sword  is 
raised  for  the  defeat  and  dishonor  of  my  sovereign." 

After  this  there  was  silence  for  a  space.  When  the  dialogue 
was  resumed,  the  subject  was  changed.  For  the  present  there 
were  no  more  reproaches. 

7* 


THE    FORAYE3S. 


JHAPTER    XVI. 

DH  K  OF  TOPHET'S  LATER  MOVEMENT. 

!B  /  tlic  way,  sir,"  said  the  major  to  his  father,  as  the  party 
sat  at  lunch,  "  you  have  been  honored  with  a  visit  from  Lord 
Rawdon  and  his  suite," 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  was  so  honored.  His  lordship  took  the  Barony 
in  his  route  upward,  and  passed  the  night  with  us,  as  did  sever 
al  of  his  suite.  His  army  was  cantoned  in  the  old  indigo-field." 

"  I  was  aware  of  it.  Once  or  twice  during  the  night,  I  was 
within  a  short  half-mile  of  the  house,  and  I  made  the  circuit  of 
his  whole  encampment." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  were  bold.  The  sight  was  hardly  satisfac 
tory.  You  saw  some  splendid  troops,  sir,  fresh  from  Ireland ; 
two  thousand  brave  fellows  at  least,  and  some  of  the  finest  look 
ing  chaps  I  ever  saw.  And,  by  tl.e  way,  sir,  your  sister  Carrie 
there  made  a  conquest  of  one  of  the  young  Irishmen." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  who  ?"  and  the  major  looked  archly  at  his  sis 
ter's  face.  "  But  why  should  I  ask.  I  know  already." 

"  How's  that,  sir  ?"  and  both  the  veteran  and  Carrie  looked 
curious. 

"  We  are  well  supplied  with  birds  of  the  wood  and  air  thai 
bring  us  tidings  in  a  moment  from  all  quarters.  The  attentions 
of  my  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  to  her  sly  ladyship,  did  not  fail 
to  be  fully  reported  in  camp." 

"  Why,  Willie  !  he  paid  me  no  attention." 

"  Fie,  Carrie,  my  child,  you  know  he  did.  Ask  Lottie, 
Willie ;  she  can  tell  you  all.  The  child  was  quite  curious,  I 
assure  you  ;  and  was  particularly  mortified  at  being  put  to  bed 
fin  hour  or  two  before  the  usual  time  " 

"Nay,  father,  not  a 


DICK  OF  TOPHET'S  LATER  MOVEMENT.  155 

"  She  certainly  felt  it  a  great  hardship  to  be  packed  off  and 
put  away  when  she  was." 

Yes,  indeed,  papa.     And  so  many  handsome  officers." 

"  Tell  Willie  about  the  young  lord,  Lottie." 

Carrie  looked  a  little  uneasy,  and  lifted  her  finger  at  the 
child,  who  smiled  with  a  pretty  little  malice  at  her  elder  sister, 
and  prattled  out  a  mischievous  reply. 

"  Oh !  Lord  Edward  did  talk  a  great  deal  with  you,  Carrie  ; 
you  know  he  did ;  and  he  did  watch  you  with  all  his  eyes ;  and 
he  sat  with  you  a  long  time  upon  the  sofa ;  and  when  papa  was 
talking  with  the  other  lord,  he  got  you  to  play  for  him  upon 
the  harpsichord ;  and  Carrie  sang  for  him,  brother  Willie,  and 
he  did  seem  so  pleased  to  hear  her  sing ;  and  it  was  a  song 
about  Ireland  too ;  about  '  the  green  isle  of  the  ocean,'  you 
know." 

"A  pretty  case  of  mickin-?nahco,  and  clearly  all  true,  Carrie." 

Carrie  was  no  simple  country-girl.  She  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  society,  and  exhibited  no  rustic  emotions.  Still,  there 
was  a  heightened  color  upon  her  cheeks,  as  she  laughingly  an 
swered — 

"  Every  syllable,  Willie ;  and  that  she  remembers  so  well, 
and  reports  so  truly,  is  only  in  proof  that  she  was  put  to  bed 
not  a  moment  too  soon.  I  shall  have  to  indulge  in  more  cau 
tion  hereafter." 

"  You  see,  Willie,  she  is  obliged  to  confess  everything !"  said 
the  old  man. 

"  Is  it  a  full  confession  ?  I  fancy  from  the  color  on  her 
cheeks  that  something  has  been  kept  back.  At  all  events, 
what  is  revealed  is  enough  to  make  a  lover  jealous,  and  I 
must  look  up  one  of  my  friends  and  put  him  on  the  trail, 
Carrie." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  brother  with  an  anxious  warning  in 
her  eye,  and  continued  to  lift  a  finger  to  him,  as  she  had  done 
to  Lottie.  It  was  evidently  a  dangerous  progress  that  the  dia 
logue  was  taking  toward  a  tabooed  precinct,  and  the  veteran 
turned^  suspiciously,  and  with  a  very  decided  change  in  his 
Voice,  said  : — 

"  What  is  that,  sir?  —  of  whom  are  you  speaking?" 
Xay,   I  am  speaking  of  no  one  especially;    but  there  is 


156  THE   FORAYEHS. 

enough  in  this  story  of  Lord  Edward  to  make  another  lover 
jealous." 

"  But  there  is  no  other,  sh  — none !" 

"  I  am  then  really  to  understand,  sir,  that  Lord  Edward  Fitz 
gerald  is  Carrie's  lover?"  answered  the  brother  evasively. 

"I  said  not  that,  sir  —  no,  sir,  I  do  not  mean  that.  The 
young  lord  was  certainly  very  attentive,  and  I  was  sorry  tt 
think  that  Carrie  was  not  so  well  pleased  with  his  attentions  ar 
she  might  have  been.  She  played  and  sang  for  him,  it  is  true 
and  behaved  as  graciously  as  any  lady  could  do  in  her  own 
house,  sir." 

'•'What  more  would  you  have,  sir,  unless  you  veally  desired 
her  union  with  this  young  Irishman  ?" 

"  And  I  should  not  be  displeased,  sir,  if  such  a  thing  could 
take  place,"  retorted  the  veteran,  quickly  and  rather  sharply, 
as  if  somewhat  dissatisfied  with  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  the 
major  had  spoken.  He  continued  : — 

"  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  sir,  is  a  young  nobleman  of  the 
most  noble  character,  and  the  most  illustrious  connections.  My 
Lord  Rawdon,  who  is  charmed  with  his  courage  and  conduct, 
gave  me  all  his  history.  There  is  no  stock  in  the  Irish  peerage 
superior.  The  Geraldines  have  always  been  famous  for  their 
blood.  Lord  Edward's  father  was  the  duke  of  Leinster ;  his 
mother  the  daughter  of  Charles,  duke  of  Richmond;  he  him 
self,  sir,  is  worthy  of  his  race  and  immediate  parents." 

"  You  seem  to  have  pursued  the  subject  of  Irish  genealogy  of 
late,  sir,  with  more  sympathy  and  respect  than  formerly.  There 
was  a  time  when  Irish  nobility,  and  the  whole  Irish  race,  found 
but  little  sympathy  in  your  thoughts." 

The  veteran  did  not  seem  to  relish  the  reminiscence. 

"And  for  a  good  reason,  sir  —  they  were  a  rebellious  people 
always." 

"  The  ancestors  of  this  young  man  especially  so." 

"The  fault  was  in  his  ancestors  —  not  in  him,  sir.  He  is 
making  the  proper  atonement.  But  I  can  not  expect  that  his 
present  loyalty  will  find  favor  in  your  eyes,  as  it  does  in  mine  !" 

"No,  indeed,  sir!  How  should  it?"  exclaimed  the  major  of 
dragoons,  rising  from  his  chair  and  striding  heavily  across  the 
apartment  — "  How  should  it,  when  it  betrays  all  the  examples 


DICK  OP  TOPHET'S  LATER  MOVEMENT.  15? 

of  his  past,  and  all  the  securities  of  his  country's  future.  How 
should  he  be  here,  sir,  with  liis  own  people  in  bonds  at  Lome, 
fighting  the  battles  of  their  oppressor !  What  a  spectacle  is  it 
to  see  the  nobles  of  a  race,  who  perpetually  complain  of  their 
own  tyrants,  seeking  with  naked  swords  to  subject  a  foreign 
people  to  the  sway  of  the  same  tyrannies.  One  who  calls  him 
self  an  Irish  patriot  fighting  against  the  liberties  of  America.'' 

"Liberties!     Fiddlesticks!" 

The  young  man  did  not  notice  the  interruption  as  he  con 
tinued  : — 

"  It  is  thus  that  Ireland  is  made  to  drink  the  bitter  cup  of  her 
own  bondage  —  bitterness  to  the  lips,  death  to  the  life,  dishonor 
to  the  soul.  Her  people  serve  as  willing  mercenaries  of  the 
very  sovereign  whom  they  hate,  and  every  blow  which  they 
strike  in  his  behalf,  rivets  more  firmly  the  chain  about  their 
own  wrists." 

"  Pshaw !  This  is  all  boy-declamation,  Willie.  Ireland 
wears  no  chains  which  it  is  not  necessary  and  proper  that  she 
should  wear." 

The  other  quickly  replied  : — 

"  On  that  point,  sir,  we  are  agreed.  And  so  long  as  her  peo 
ple  are  eager  to  fight  the  battles  of  their  own  tyrants,  may  the 
chains  grow  and  eat  into  the  flesh,  and  sink  into  the  soul,  and 
root  out  from  existence  every  atom  of  life  in  the  nature  which 
so  foolishly  and  foully  degrades  itself." 

"Take  care,  sir  —  take  care,  Willie  Sinclair  !  Do  not  make 
me  angry,  sir  —  I  am  not  easily  made  angry,  sir — I  am  quite 
quiet,  quite  gentle,  my  son  —  but  d — n  it,  sir,  beware  how  ycu 
provoke  me  !" 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  provoke  or  anger  you,  sir,  and  we  will 
dismiss  the  subject,  if  you  please.  I  have  no  fear  that  Carrie 
Sinclair  will  feel  more  sympathy  for  this  young  Irish  lord  than 
I  do.  I  trust  that  she  will  find  a  proper  mate  among  her  own 
people." 

"  Well,  sir,  but  if  she  should  —  if,  in  obedience  to  my  wishes, 
sir—" 

"  I  have  no  fear,  sir,  that  your  wishes,  in  such  an  affair  as  this, 
will  ever  put  on  the  aspect  of  a  law,  sir." 

*  And  why  not,  sir-  -why  nott  ' 


158  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  Because,  sir,  I  Rn  w  that  you  can  never  become  a  tyrant  te 
your  own  children." 

"  I  know  not  that,  sir,  when  they  become  disobedient,  rebel- 
lious,  Willie  Sinclair.  Arid  this  reminds  me  to  ask,  sir,  since 
when  did  you  become  as  intimate  of  a  certain  Captain  Travis, 
ofEdisto?" 

"Now  comes  my  turn!"  was  the  unuttered  thought  of  the 
major  of  dragoons,  looking  with  a  faint  smile  to  the  anxious 
face  of  Carrie. 

"  I  am  no  intimate  of  Captain  Travis,  sir." 

"Ah  !  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  sir.  He  is  not  the  person, 
sir,  whom  I  should  wish  to  see  intimate  with  a  son  of  mine. 
lie  is  a  dirty  fellow,  sir  —  not  a  gentleman  —  a  corrupt,  selfish, 
mercenary  rascal.  I  knew  him  well  in  the  Cherokee  war.  He 
:s  not  the  person  for  a  gentleman's  intercourse.  But  you  have 
intercourse  with  him,  sir  — pray  what  is  the  nature  of  that  in 
tercourse  ?" 

"  It  belongs  wholly  to  my  official  duties.  It  is,  accordingly, 
sir,  of  a  nature  not  to  be  communicated." 

"  How,  Willie  Sinclair  — how  can  that  be  ?  This  man  is  in 
the  service,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  of  his  Britannic  majesty.  He 
:s  in  the  commissariat,  I  believe.  I  sold  him  a  hundred  head 
of  cattle  on  British  account." 

"  You  arc  right,  sir ;  he  is  in  the  commissariat." 
'  Of  what  nature,  then,  is  your  intercourse  with  him  if  it  be 
official.     Either  he  is  a  traitor  to  his  king,  sir " 

"  Do  you  not  see,  my  dear  father,  from  your  own  conclusions, 
that  the  intercourse  with  him  is  such  as  it  would  not  be  proper 
for  mo  to  tell,  or  you  to  hear  ?" 

The  old  man  paused  a  moment,  then  resumed  :— - 

"  And,  on  your  honor,  sir,  you  have  none  but  an  official  inter- 
course  with  him." 

"  None,  sir." 

"  How,  then,  is  it  that  this  person  has  the  audacity  to  come 
*o  me,  and  impudently  to  suggest  a  union  between  his  family 
and  mine  ?" 

•  «  He  must  answer  this  question  for  himself.     I  can  only  say 
that  his  proposition  was  wholly  unauthorized  by  me." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  thus  much,  Willie — very  glad. 


DICK  OF  TOPHET'S  LATER  MOVEMENT. 

But  ha\e  you  told  me  all,  sir?  Is  there  no  secret  in  reserve? 
I  tell  you,  Willie  Sinclair,  that  this  man  Travis  did  more  than 
hint  to  me  that  you  had  a  passion  for  his  daughter." 

"  He  told  you  but  the  truth*,  sir  —  though  unauthorized  to  do 
so." 

"  And  why  unauthorized  ?  Who  has  a  better  right  than  a 
father  to  be  made  aware  of  the  disposition  of  a  son  ?" 

"  And  in  proper  season,  sir,  all  the  secrets  of  Willie  Sinclair 
shall  be  put  into  his  father's  keeping.  Let  this  suffice  for  the 
present.  If  my  confidences  are  in  anything  withheld  from  you, 
sir,  or  any  of  my  family,  it  is  only  where  they  affect  others. 
When  they  relate  to  myself  only,  you  shall  know  them  all. 
When  I  am  permitted  to  speak  for  others,  you  shall  hear." 

"  This  will  not  answer,  sir.  Who  is  this  young  woman,  sir  — 
the  daughter  of  this  miserable  commissary  ? — " 

"  Let  me  pray  you,  my  dear  father,  to  say  nothing  of  her, 
and,  for  the  present,  if  you  please,  no  more  of  him.  In  due 
time,  you  shall  know  all  that  1  can  tell.  Enough  now  that,  in 
a  season  while  the  storm  rages  without,  we  are  a  family  of  IOVG 
within.  Will  you  not  spare  to  our  meeting,  destined  to  be  exit 
short  in  a  few  hours" — and  the  major  took  out  his  watch,  and 
mused  over  the  face  of  it  for  a  moment — "let  us,  my  dear 
father,  enjoy  the  two  or  three  hours  that  are  left  to  our  reunion, 
without  another  word  calculated  to  impair  its  serenity." 

The  old  man  put  his  hand  to  his  brow.  There  was  some  sul- 
lenness  upon  his  face  as  he  replied  :  — 

"  Be  it  so,  Willie  Sinclair.     The  rights  of   my  sovereign  do 
not  forbid  that  I  should  tolerate  the  presence  for  a  few  hours  of 
n-y  son  —  and  I  trust  that  his  own.  training  has  been  such  as 
will  keep  him  from  a  degrading  alliance.     One  thing  let  me  say 
and  bear  it  in  mind,  if  you  please,  never,  while  my  head  is  hot, 
will  I  tolerate   the  presence  of  that  man.  Travis,  in  my  house- 
ad  one  who  has  a  right  to  be  there.     Never  !  never/' 

And  the  fist  of  the  veteran  thundered  upon  the  table,  as  if  to 
register  the  oath.  The  young  man's  face  saddened  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  he  shook  away  the  cloud,  and  seizing  his  father's 
band,  he  cried  laughingly  :  — 

"  F  doubt,  my  dear  father,  that  the  reception  which  you  gave 
Lim  when  he  was  last  here,  will  ever  encourage  him  to  a  second 


160  THE  FORAYERS. 

venture.     Be  sure,  father,  that  he  shall  never  intrude  under  my 
auspices.     But  sir " 

He  paused.     He  felt  the  necessity  of  prudence. 

''  Well — but  what  ?"  said  the  veteran. 

"  Nothing  now,  sir  ; — but, is  it  not  near  the  dinner  hour  J  I 
confess  to  an  amazing  appetite." 

The  veteran  smiled  grimly. 

"  You  shall  have  some  dinner.  Meanwhile,  sir,  not  to  pro 
voke  your  appetite  to  a  too  intense  degree,  you  shall  join  me  in 
some  wine-bitters." 

And  the  stomachic  was  resorted  to,  and  the  parties  smacked 
their  lips  after  it. 

"  To  a  dragoon,  sir,  in  our  service,"  said  the  young  officer, 
"  food  and  drink  become  primary  principles.  Our  supplies  are 
served  so  capriciously,  that  it  is  a  rule  with  the  dragoon  to  eat 
and  drink  whenever  opportunity  offers.  If  he  dines  with  you 
this  hour,  and  another  dinner  offers  the  next,  he  welcomes  it 
without  any  consciousness  of  the  feast  that  he  has  just  finished. 
And  thus,eating  inordinately  one  day,  he  will  go  without  food 
for  three,  yet  suffer  little  inconvenience." 

"  That  is  the  case  with  the  Indians.  I  have  known  a  Chero 
kee  runner  go  eight  days,  on  a  trot  ten  hours  per  day,  eating 
nothing  but  a  handful  of  browned  maize,  some  three  times  a 
day,  and  without  seeming  to  feel  hunger,  or  the  want  of  meat ; 
yet,  put  the  meat  before  him  and  he  will  devour  you  ten  pounds 
at  a  sitting." 

"  Ten  pounds,  father?"  exclaimed  Carrie. 

"  On  my  life,  true  !  You  must  not  look  upon  the  red-skin 
as  a  monster,  Carrie.  The  white  will  do  the  same  thing  under 
similar  circumstances,  nay,  eat  his  grandmother,  and  never  need 
for  his  dishes  the  dressing  of  a  Parisian  cook.  Nature  is  full 
of  such  seeming  anomalies ;  and  you  are  to  estimate  the  per 
formance  by  a  regard  to  the  previous  endurance.  Irregularity 
of  food  produces  a  spasmodic  vigor  of  the  stomach,  which  makes 
it  capable  of  astonishing  performances. 

"  But  just  in  the  same  degree  does  the  capacity  for  drink  les 
sen  under  the  same  circumstances.  Your  starving  man  can  not 
drink  much  safely,  or  without  danger  to  the  brain.  He  grows 
terribly  wolfish  and  savage  from  drink  when  famished,  and  ir 


DICK  OF  TOPHET'S  LATER  MOVEMENT.  161 

something  of  a  madman.  By  the  way,  Willie,  I  do  not  find 
that  old  Madeira  does  me  any  hurt  with  the  gout"— filling  his 
glass  as  he  spoke  with  the  amher-hued  beverage.  The  young 
man  followed  his  example. 

•'  Our  physicians,  sir,  you  are  aware,  recommend  the  old  Ma 
deira  as  beneficial  in  gout,  and  though  the  opinion  is  somewhat 
questioned,  I  do  not  see  with  what  reason.  You  drink  a  drug  as 
medicine, in  gout,  which  is  dissolved  in  the  strongest  alcohol. 
The  drug  itself  passes  into  the  circulation,  and  must  affect  tin 
brain,  and  when  you  affect  the  brain,  you  necessarily  affect  tht 
general  health  always.  Now,  what  worse  can  old  Madeira  do  1 
—  unless,  sir —  and  there  lies  the  true  difficulty — you  drink  more 
than  the  proper  dose  ;  —  a  danger  which  is  always  present  when 
the  medicine  is  so  very  palatable." 

"  T,  faith,  you're  right.  I  suspect  that  is  the  true  distinction. 
There"— pushing  away  the  bottle  —  "  I  will  take  no  more  to 
day.  You  must  finish  it  for  yourself,  Willie." 

'As  an  old  proverb  hath  it,  father  —  'A  short  horse  is  soon 
curried  !'  and  he  pointed  to  the  greatly-diminished  measure  in 
the  decanter." 

"  Oh  !  do  not  apprehend  that  your  allowance  shall  be  short. 
There  is  a  good  supply  above  stairs,  though  my  Lord  Rawdon, 
and  the  young  Irishman  did  play  a  famous  stick  among  the 
bottles.  They  left  half  a  dozen  dead  men,  floored  as  complete 
ly  as  if  the  shilelah  had  been  at  work.  Ah  !  Willie,  I  should 
Mke  you  to  know  Fitzgerald." 

"Not,  L  trust,  while  his  sword  is  at  the  bosom  of  my  country 
But  enough  of  that.  Ha  !  here  is  Congaree  Polly." 

And  the  great  staring  negro  woman  made  her  appearance 
Htli  waiters,  knives,  forks,  &c.,  all  significant  of  preparations 
.or  the  approaching  dinner. 

"  By  the  way,  Polly,  what  do  you  say  to  Little  Peter  for  a 
husband  ?" 

"  Ki !  Mass  Willie,  wha'  I  hab  for  say  ?  Wha'  Little  Peter 
wants  wid  me  ?" 

"  Come  !  come  !  Polly,  no  highflying  airs  with  me.  Will  you 
have  Little  Peter,  or  shall  I  send  him  over  to  milkwoman  Lenah  V 

"  He  kin  tek  [take]  Lenah  ef  he  want    'em." 

"  Then  1  must  tell  Jiim  you  won't  have  him." 


102  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Wha'  for,  Mass  Willie,  you  bodder  you'  se'f  wid  nigger  de 
fections  1  Lc'  do  niggar  look  out  lie  own  wife.  T  spec'  Little 
Peter  kin  ten'  to  lie  own  consarns." 

"Well,  as  you  please,"  said  the  major  laughing  —  "you  are 
all  hypocrites  together.  But  hark  ye,  Polly,  have  you  looked 
in  upon  our  prisoner  down  stairs.  How  does  he  get  on?" 

"lie  call  me,  leettle  bit  ago,  when  I  bin  guinet'rough  do 
passage,  and  beg  me  gee  'em  some  water." 

"  Well,  you  gave  him?" 

"  Yes,  he  drink  de  whole  calabash.  Den  he  shibber  all  ober, 
and  say  he  berry  cole,  and  beg  me  put  leetle  bit  o'  fire  in  de  cliim- 
bley." 

"  But  you  did  not,  woman  V 

11  Oh  !  yes  !  De  man  so  cole,  Mass  Willie,  and  shibber  so  all 
ober  ;"  and  the  wench  suited  the  action  to  the  word  in  very 
wintry  fashion. 

"  Fire  in  midsummer  !  Fool !  fool !"  exclaimed  the  major 
of  dragoons  ;  and,  whirling  the  astounded  negro  out  of  his  way, 
he  dashed  down  into  the  basement  with  the  utmost  speed  of 
blood  and  limbs. 

The  instincts  and  the  experience  of  the  partisan  soldier,  were 
not  easily  mistaken.  His  sudden  apprehensions  were  all  real 
ized.  Dick  of  Tophet  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  the  frag 
ments  of  the  ropes  which  had  bound  him  lay  about,  half  consu 
med  by  the  fire  ;  and  the  blazing  torches  cast  upon  the  floor  of 
the  apartment,  were  beginning  to  blaze  and  crackle  very  mer 
rily.  Had  the  room  been  furnished  with  any  inflammable  ma 
terial,  the  discovery  made  by  the  major  would  not  have  been 
in  season  to  save  the  dwelling. 

With  one  so  prompt,  cool,  and"  energetic  as  our  major  of  dra 
goons,  it  required  but  a  few  moments  to  extinguish  the  fire. 
Having  done  this,  and  in  a  close  and  hurried  search  about  the 
premises,  seen  that  the  outlaw  was  really  gone,  and  was  nowhere 
lurking  in  the  immediate  precincts,  Willie  Sinclair  hurried  up 
stairs. 

"  One  is  never  safe,"  said  he,  "  let  him  be  never  so  sure,  par 
ticularly  when  there  are  women  near  him,  no  matter  what  the 
color.  Thei?  sympathies  are  so  many  weapons  in  the  hands  of 
the  cunning.  This  rascal  is  off." 


DICK    OF   TOI'HRT'S    LATER   MOVEMENT.  l«>3 

;tf!  — and  out  of  Benny's  hitch  !"  said  the  old  man. 

^  !  and  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  hitch,  short  of  that  which 
^  aids  him  to  a  hickory,  would  make  such  a  scoundrel  sure. 
I  wa«  a  fool  to  trust  him  out  of  my  own  sight,  or  to  suffer  any 
to  approai  h  him.  But,  it  is  a  lesson  that  I  will  not  forget. 
Get  to  the  housetop.  Carrie,  and  look  out.  We  must  prepare 
for  every  t  rt  of  darerw  !  —  a  siege  —  perhaps  a  storm  !" 


THE   FOBAYEBS. 


OF 


CHAPTER  XVii 

NEW    CAUSES    OF   APPREHENSION 

THE  operations  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  however  mysterious  the 
proceeding  might  appear  to  those  who  know  nothing  of  the  re 
source  and  hardihood  which  were  acquirable  in  such  a  civil  wai 
as  that  which  raged  in  the  Carolinas  and  Georgia  during  the 
last  three  years  of  the  Revolution,  were  yet  exceedingly  simple. 
One  would  think  that,  tied  hand  and  foot,  his  arms  laced  to 
gether  behind  his  back,  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  outlaw  to 
make  his  escape  without  succor  from  another  party.  But  the 
fire  once  accorded  him  by  the  slave,  the  rest  was  easy.  Dick 
could  easily  simulate  the  sufferings  of  one  seized  with  "  the 
shaking  agy."  His  "  shibbering"  imposed  upon  the  sympathies 
and  unquestioning  simplicity  of  Congaree  Polly ;  and  a  negro, 
even  in  midsummer,  never  needs  an  argument  to  establish  the 
advantages  of  a  blazing  fire.  Polly  never  hesitated  to  light  the 
brands  :or  Dick  just  as  he  required.  He  had  no  other  service 
to  seek  at  her  hands ;  and,  the  moment  she  disappeared,  the 
hardy  ivffian  thrust  his  feet  over  the  blazing  lightwood,  and  en 
dured  tho  scorching  flame  without  shudder  or  retreat,  until  the 
cords  snapped  in  twain  which  bound  his  legs  together.  He  was 
greatly  scorched  and  burnt,  but  he  was  tough,  and  however 
deficient  in  other  virtues,  he  had  that  of  endurance  in  perfec 
tion.  He  was  now  able  to  stand  upon  his  feet,  and  to  walk. 
Could  he  escape  ?  Was  he  watched  ?  Where  were  his  guards  ? 
To  answer  these  questions  satisfactorily  required  some  little 
time,  and  he  proceeded  to  look  into  his  situation  with  the  great 
est  precaution.  •  He  occupied  one  of  four  rooms  in  a  brick  base 
ment.  These  rooms  were  appropriated  to  inferior  purposes. 
One  was  a  lumber-room,  the  door  of  which  was  locked.  This 
was  opposite  his  own.  Another  was  a  "  wash-room,"  and  he 


NEW   CAUSES   OF   APPREHENSION.  .     165 

eould  liear  the  blanckisseuse  at  her  operations  within.  Tlie  door 
was  open.  A  common  passage  led  to  all,  and  by  a  stair-flight 
to  the  upper  apartments.  To  these  he  had  no  desire  to  ascend, 
now  that  he  was  weaponless,  and  knew  what  sort  of  customer 
he  should  probably  have  to  encounter  in  his  attempt.  It  was 
quite  dear  that  he  was  able  to  escape  from  the  dwelling,  but 
was  it  equally  certain  that  he  should  succeed,  unseen,  in  cros 
sing  the  court,  and  getting  into  the  cover  of  the  woods  ?  At  all 
events  these  offered  him  the  only  chance  of  refuge.  The  effort 
must  be  made.  Any  peril  which  might  follow  him  in  flight  was 
preferable  to  the  certain  doom  which  awaited  him  in  his  pres 
ent  bonds.  He  knew  Willie  Sinclair  well.  He  knew  what  he 
had  to  expect  in  the  camp  of  Marion  to  which  he  concluded 
himself  to  be  destined.  There  was  not  a  moment's  hesitation 
in  his  adoption  of  the  resolve  to  fly. 

But  in  what  manner  was  the  question  ?  He  had  made  his 
observations,  stealing  from  door  to  door  of  the  several  apart 
ments  of  the  basement,  listening  at  each,  peeping  into  them 
through  crack  and  keyhole,  and,  out  of  the  house,  through  door 
and  window.  The  employment,  by  Sinclair,  of  most  of  the 
house-servants  along  the  edge  of  the  wood  below  —  a  fact  which 
our  outlaw  now  readily  conceived — afforded  him  comparative  free 
dom  from  detection  while  making  his  reconnoissance.  The  kitchen 
was  some  thirty  yards  from  the  house.  Half-a-dozen  little  ne 
groes  were  playing  in  front  of  it.  Congarce  Polly  could  be 
seen  occasionally  going  to  and  fro.  It  required  but  five  minutes 
to  pass  from  the  dwelling  to  a  little  copse  on  the  right  which 
gradually  stretched  aAvay  till  it  mingled  with  the  trees  of  the 
avenue  along  the  public  road.  This  was  the  route  Avhich  the 
w.tlaw  proposed  to  take,  as  likely  to  afford  the  best  shelter,  and 
HS.  most  probably, -left  unwatched  by  the  scouting  negroes. 

p>ut  should  he  be  encountered — his  arms  bound  —  no  weapon 
m  his  grasp  ?  The  meanest  negro  of  the  plantation  could,  in 
such  case  —and  lie  well  knew,  would  —  despatch  him  with  a 
biilo'-.  The  fieice  outlaw  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  his  de- 
."encelessness  in  such  a  danger.  To  die  fighting  was  scarcely  a 
subject  of  his  fears  at  any  time  ;  but  to  be  incapable  of  a  blow ; 
to  see  it  descending,  and  from  a  negro's,  hand,  and  offer  no  re- 
listance; — this  was  a  fear  which  the  ruffian  could  not  contem- 


166  THE    FORAYER8. 

plate  without  a  shudder.     If  free  fj>  fly,  he  must  be  free  to  fighr 
He  must  be  able  to  lift  his  hands  unmanacled,  and  to  grasp  a 
weapon  in  them. 

It  is  surprising  how  soon  one  finds  means  and  resources  where 
the  will  and  courage  are  not  wanting.  How  thought  meets  no 
cessity,  and  ingenuity  extricates  strength  from  shackles.  Will 
and  courage  are  the  true  gods  of  circumstance,  and  supply  the 
tools  as  well  as  the  opportunity.  Now,  base,  bloody,  brutal  as  he 
was,  Dick  of  Tophet  had  these  qualities  in  large  degree.  With 
one  or  more  other  virtues  he  might  have  been  a  great  man. 
Had  his  education  trained  his  sensibilities  and  tastes,  equally 
with  his  nerves  and  muscles,  he  might  have  substituted  the 
name  of  hero  for  that  of  outlaw.  As  it  was,  he  was  capable 
of  great  things  in  the  latter  character.  He  conceived  the  process 
by  which  to  release  his  arms  from  the  rope  ;  he  had  but  to  exer 
cise  the  same  firmness  in  the  process  that  he  had  shown  whil 
his  ankles  had  been  held  above  the  flame  of  the  blazing  light- 
wood  and  he  could  be  free  !  The  performance  was  a  more 
tedious  as  well  as  trying  one,  but  if  his  endurance  held,  it  was 
as  certain  in  its  results. 

Conceive  now  the  awkwardness  of  this  proceeding,  as  we 
watch  his  operations.  His  arms  are  fast  tethered  together  be 
hind  his  back,  the  wrists  secured  by  the  ropes  with  a  space  of 
a  few  inches  between  them.  It  was  as  Benny  Bowlegs  boasted, 
"  a  powerful  hitch" — such  as  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
any  physical  strength  to  rend  asunder.  The  knot  was  crossed  just 
beneath  the  small  of  the  outlaw's  back.  He  calculated  all  his 
difficulties  nicely;  then,  with  his  feet,  drew  one  of  the  biasing 
brands  from  the  fireplace  out  upon  the  hearth.  This  done  he 
deliberately  let  himself  down  upon  the  floor,  in  a  half-sitting 
half-lying  posture,  with  the  cord  directly  over  the  blaze.  In 
this  position  he  could  see  nothing  of  the  operation  —  only  fed  I 
His  clothes  took  fire.  He  rolled  himself  over  upon  the  flooi 
and  thus  extinguished  it ;  rolled  himself  back  over  the  flame 
and  was  again  in  a  blaze !  He  had  recourse  to  the  same  ex 
pedient  as  before,  of  rolling  upon  his  back,  until  the  flame  was 
subdued.  Thrice  did  he  require  to  sav«  himself  in  this  manner 
and  terrible  was  the  suffering  which  he  endured.  His  back  was 
in  a  blister  — his  neck —  his  very  hair  was  seized  by  the  flame; 


CAUSES    OF    APPKUHENSIOH.  iO/ 

But  such  was  his  coolness  arid  resolution  that  he  persevered 
until  the  cords  snapped  apart  that  bound  him,  and  his  arms  were 
free  :  then  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  in  the  joy  which  he  felt,  in 
spite  of  all  his  pain,  he  could  scarce  forbear  whooping  aloud  his 
triumph.  Let  the  prisoner,  in  a  similar  "  hitch"  take  note  of 
the  process  by  which  it  may  be  undone,  and  if  he  has  the  cour 
age  to  endure,  he  has  in  his  own  hands  the  means  of  his  escape. 

The  mind's  conscious  triumph  almost  subdues  the  body's  suf 
ferings.  Our  Dick  of  Tophet  suffered  truly,  but  not  so  much  at 
this  moment,  as  lie  was  destined  to  suffer  a  few  hours  later. 
Hie  anxiety  helped  somewhat  to  subdue  the  intensity  of  his 
pains.  He  had  trembled  while  his  experiment  was  in  progress, 
not  because  of  the  pain,  but  lest  he  should  be  interrupted.  But 
our  major  of  dragoons  was  too  busy  with  the  family  above  stairs 
—  the  outlaw  could  hear  the  subdued  tones  of  their  voices,  while 
he  stole  through  the  passage; — and  Congaree  Polly  was  en 
gaged  in  the  solemn  duty  of  spreading  the  table  for  dinner. 
She  had  passed  up-stairs  and  down,  and  from  the  house  to  the 
kitchen,  twice,  while  the  prisoner  was  undergoing  his  self- 
niposed  infliction  of  fire.  He  had  heard  her  progress,  and  then 
It  was  that  his  heart  swelled,  and  his  frame  trembled  with  ap 
prehension.  It  was  over  !  His  limbs  were  free,  and  he  must 
be  prompt  if  he  \v  Aild  escape.  He  had  no  time  to  think  of 
l  nt  clothes,  shrivelled  hair,  and  blistered  back  and  arms. 
His  sleeves  were  burnt,  his  arms  scorched  and  blackened  from 
wrist  to  elbow;  —  but  he  was  free.  His  hands  were  free  —  his 
(eet !  He  allowed  them  no  delay.  He  gave  himself  a  moment 
only  to  draw  the  brands  from  the  hearth  and  lay  them  down 
together  on  the  floor.  He  cursed  the  bare  chamber  in  which  he 
had  been  lodged  that  it  contained  no  fuel,  no  furniture,  no  bed 
clothes,  no  stuffs  of  any  kind  which  could  be  made  to  contribute 
to  the  rapid  spread  of  the  fire.  Should  the  house  suddenly 
break  out  into  flame,  his  chances  of  escape  would  be  increased ; 
and  then  what  a  fine  turn  of  vengeance  would  he  have  done 
the  class  of  "  harrystocrats"  that  he  so  much  hated  ! 

lie  did  what  he  could,  in  the  brief  moment  allowed  him  to 
effect  his  vindictive  and  destructive  object.  He  piled  the  bla 
zing  lightwood  upon  the  floor,  and  left  it  to  do  its  pleasure, 
as  Willie  Sinclair  found  it. 


168  THE    PORAYElte. 

Tlie  latter  fortunately  came  in  season  to  stifle  the  flame  which 
had  already  communicated  to  the  floor.  It  required  but  a  few 
moments  to  draw  the  brands  apart,  and  cast  water  upon  the 
burning  fragments. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  !"  he  muttered,  as  he  was  thus  employed, 
"to  suffer  a  negro  —  and  a  woman  too  — to  approach  the  scoun 
drel  !"  and  thus  muttering  and  feeling,  he  made  his  way  up 
stairs  and  sounded  his  bugle  thrice  to  summon  to  the  house  his 
two  scouting  negro-fellows,  and  such  others  as  they  might,  have 
gathered  about  them. 

"  But  where  is  the  dog  —  where  is  Tiger  all  this  time  1  1  had 
thought  to  ask  after  him  before.  Had  he  been  about  the  dwel 
ling  this  villain  never  would  have  ventured  nigh.  At  all  events 
we  should  have  had  warning  of  every  one  of  the  rascal's  move 
ments." 

"  Little  Peter  been  tek'  Tiger  wid  'em  to  de  wood,"  answered 
Congaree  Polly. 

"  Ah  !  that  accounts  for  it !  I  can  not  blame  him,  for  Tiger 
would  be  quite  as  serviceable  on  the  scout  as  here  But  we 
must  now  have  them  all  back,  Benny,  Peter,  Tiger  — all  that 
we  can  gather  together.  We  must  contract  our  forces  if  we 
would  make  them  answer  any  good  purpose.  To  encountei 
these  rascals  properly,  we  must  draw  them  out  of  the  wcoa 
We  are  quite  a  match  for  them,  I  think,  if  they  venture  to  at 
tack  the  house." 

And  Willie  Sinclair  again  sounded  the  bugle  for  the  return 
of  the  negroes. 

"  What  a  determined  rascal  !"  exclaimed  the  veteran,  medi 
tating  the  outlaw's  escape.  "  Who  could  have  thought  it?  And 
how  the  scoundrel  must  have  suffered  !  What  hardihood  and 
endurance.  By  Jove,  sir,  if  that  fellow  could  have  been  caught 
young,  and  trained  properly,  he  would  have  become  famous." 

"Yes,  indeed  !  We  know  him  of  old.  He  is  capable  of  the 
most  desperate  things.  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  his  scorchings  must 
have  been  a  few  degrees  severer  than  your  twinges  of  gout !" 

"And  then  the  resource  !" 

"  Yes,  it  reminds  me  of  an  affair  that  took  place  at  the  cap 
ture  of  Orangeburg,  when  Fisher  held  the  garrison  by  Sumter. 
Among  the  prisoners  were  two  notorious  outlaws,  Cooper  and  Pen- 


NEW    CAUSES    OF    APPREHENSION.  16b 

darvis.  Tlic y  were  intrusted  to  the  care  of  two  wliigs,  Travis  an  I. 
Ducsto  ;  Travis,  by  the  way,  being  a  cousin  of  the  Captain  Tra 
vis,  of  Edisto,  of  whom  we  have  spoken.  £^o  doubt  that  the 
persons  would  have  been  tried  and  hung  when  they  had  reached 
Belleville;  but  the  two  men  having  charge  of  them,  were  impa 
tient  of  any  such  tedious  process  of  getting  rid  of  them.  They 
were  personal  enemies  of  the  prisoners,  and  the  latter  gave 
them  some  trouble  along  the  road,  requiring,  every  now  and 
then,  to  be  pricked  forward  with  the  bayonet.  They  were  both 
handcuffed  together,  the  left  arm  of  Cooper  being  riveted  to  the 
right  of  Pendarvis.  As  the  evening  approached,  Travis  propo 
sed  to  Duesto,  to  shoot  the  prisoners,  and  thus  relieve  them 
selves  from  the  trouble  in  respect  to  them.  The  measure  was 
agreed  on,  and  both  fired  at  the  same  moment.  The  two 
handcuffed  men  fell  together,  Pendarvis  sprawling  completely 
over  the  body  of  Coopef.  The  former  was  slain  outright,  the 
latter  only  wounded  slightly.  But  he  pretended  to  be  dead  and 
lay  quiet.  The  murderers  ascertained  that  Pendarvis  was  dead, 
and  they  presumed  that  Cooper  was  also.  But  to  make  sure, 
Travis  run  his  bayonet  through  Cooper's  neck,  the  wounded 
man  feeling  and  hearing  the  steel  as  it  grated  in  the  sand  below 
him.  Yet  he  was  cool  and  hardy  enough  still  to  remain  quiet, 
and  so  they  wore  left  on  the  roadside,  not  a  mile  from  the  vil 
lage.  When  they  were  gone,  Cooper  recovered,  and  threw  off 
the  body  of  Pendarvis.  But,  handcuffed  to  the  dead  man,  with 
the  use  of  his  own  ri^nt  only,  how  was  he  to  extricate  himself? 
The  hitch  seems  to  have  been  more  sure  than  that  of  our  Dick  of 
Tophet.  But  he  had  similar  resources.  He  dragged  the  body 
of  Pendarvis,  who  was  a  very  large  and  portly  person,  to  the 
woods,  there  he  found  a  couple  of  lightvvood  knots;  he  laid  the 
fettered  hand  of  the  dead  man  upon  one  of  these  knots,  and 
wiih  the  other  he  beat  it  to  a  jelly,  then  withdrew  it  from  the 
shackle;  and, wounded  in  the  body,  with  a  bayonet  thrust  through 
tha  neck,  feeble  from  loss  of  blood,  the  stubborn  scoundrel 
made  off,  carrying  with  him  the  handcuffs,  till  he  got  down  to 
Fletcher's  blacksmith  shop,  where  he  had  the  fetters  stricken 
off,  and  made  his  way  finally  in  safety  to  his  home  in  the  Forks 
of  Edisto.  He  is  living  yet,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  as  great 
a  rogue  and  tf  ry  as  ever." 

8 


170  THE   FOR^YERS. 

"  The  fellow  was  a  hero,  sir  — and  I  rejoice  that  such  hardy 
courage  is  engaged  on  the  right  side." 

"The  right  side  with  him,  and  most  of  the  same  kidney,  it- 
tliat  which  promises  most  plunder.  Li  less  than  three  months, 
he  will  probably  find  his  way  to  Marion's  camp,  imploring  to  be. 
received  to  mercy,  and  professing  the  greatest  penitence  for  hi 
evil  deeds.  Courage  and  endurance  are  no  doubt  admirable 
virtues  in  a  soldier,  but  they  are  such  as  we  are  just  as  apt  to 
find  in  the  bosom  of  a  sturdy  ruffian.  All  of  these  rascals  with 
whom  we  are  now  threatened  are  in  the  service  of  his  Britan 
nic  majesty." 

"  D — n  >em !  I  don't  care  in  whose  service  they  profess  to 
be,  if  I  can  only  get  a  shot  at  them.  But,  for  this  infernal 
gout,  Willie,  I  should  answer  confidently  against  a  score  of  the 
scamps;  but  wheel  me  up  to  yonder  window,  and  let  me  have 
my  pistols.  By  the  Lord  Harry,  but  I  long  to  have  a  crack  or 
two  at  a  scoundrel  before  I  cease  to  kick.  I  feel  that  a  little 
excitement  in  my  head  will  lessen  the  infernal  twitchings  in  my 
foot.  Oh  !  for  ten  years  that  I  have  lost  —  I  may  say  in  doing 
nothing." 

"I  would  to  Heaven,  sir,  that  you  had  twenty  back,  and 
were  fighting  on  the  right  side." 

"  Oh  !  d — n  the  side !"  cried  the  old  man,  now  thoroughly 
roused  and  ex,cited.  "  Devil  take  the  side  when  a  fight's  going 
for'a'd  !  That's  not  the  time  to  discuss  the  rights  of  the  ques 
tion.  Wheel  me  to  the  window  I  say,  Willie,  and  let  me  have 
a  hand  in  the  game.  The  pistols,  Carrie,  the  old  dogs !  I  will 
refresh  their  memories  with  a  good  feed." 

"  Here  they  are.,  papa,"  cried  Lottis.  running  up.  "  Her\, 
they  are  '  Shall  I  load  'em  for  you,  papa  ?" 

"  Load  'em  for  me  !  Hear  that,  Willie  >  What  think  you  or 
my  putting  Lottie  in  small-clothes,  anJ  making  her  my  hench 
man  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  And  who  taught  you  tc  load  pistols,  hussy?' 

"  Oh  !  I  can  load  them,  papa  :  I've  seen  brother  Willie  k  & 
em  often,  and  I  watched  him.     First  you  put  in  the  powde. 
you  know  — there's  the  little  charger— then  the  wadding, 
then  the  bullet  —  and  you  wad  that  too,  papa." 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry  she  does  seem  to  know  all  about  i':  I 
Well,  you  shall  load  one  of  them,  Lottie,  while  I  load  the  other 


NEW    CAUSES   OF   APPREHENSION.  171 

Now,  let  us  see  how  you  put  your  education  to  use.  Right ! 
That  is  the  measure." 

Ami,  really,  the  little  creature  showed  that  she  had  watched 
the  process  closely;  she  proceeded  to  her  task  with  equal 
promptness  and  propriety. 

"  That  will  do  for  ramming  the  powder  down,  Lottie, 
There's  a  rule  in  rhyme  for  ramming,  Lottie,  which  you  will 

icmcmber : — 

"'Ram  powder  light, 
But  bullet  tight!' 

Good !  I  see  you  know  all  about  it,  my  girl.  You  shall  be  a 
soldier's  wife,  Lottie." 

"  Yes,  papa :  I  shall  be  Lord  Edward's,  papa ;  he's  such  a 
nice,  handsome,  brave  cavalier!" 

"What!  so  ambitious,  little  Lottie!  But  that  can't  be. 
Lord  Edward  is  for  Carrie,  and  you  must  not  think  to  rival 
your  sister,  Lottie." 

"  Oh  !  she  shall  have  all  my  rights,  papa,"  cried  Carrie,  with 
a  slight  suffusion  of  the  cheek,  as  she  was  employed  parading 
swords  and  pistols  for  her  brother ;  "  I  relinquish  in  Lottie's 
favor." 

"  Yes,  papa,  sis  don't  want  Lord  Edward.     She's  for  another 
sort  of  cavalier.     Don't  you  remember  the  song  she  made : — 
"  'There  was  a  gallant  cavalier.'" 

"Hush,  Lottie,  hush,  child!"  said  Carrie,  unnecessarily  flushed 
in  the  face. 

"  Let  her  speak,  Carrie,"  said  the  old  man.     "  She  is  evi- 
nently  far  advanced  in  a  damsel's  peculiar  education.     She  is 
preparing  herself  to  be  a  soldier's  bride." 
'  It  must  be  Lord  Edward,  papa," 

""Well,  if  you  will  be  your  sister's  rival,  it  is  at  your  own 
peri;. .  but  where's  Willie  gone?" 

The  major  of  dragoons  had  left  the  house,  and  the  veteran 
nrw  for  the  nrst  time  heard  the  distant  baying  of  bloodhounds 
in  the  woods  below,  significant  of  a  hunt  in  progress.  It  was 
these  sounds  which  had  called  him  off  from  the  party ;  and, 
whispering  to  Carrie  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out  from  the  upper 
story,  he  stole  out,  well  armed,  to  join  the  negroes,  who  had 
thus  far  failed  to  answer  the  requisitions  of  his  bugle. 


172 


THE   FORAYERS. 


He  found  Benny  on  the  alert — Peter  was  scouting  with  the 
dog  Tiger. 

"He  must  come  in,"  said  the  major.  "These  fellows  wil! 
capture  him." 

"  Nebber  fear  for  Little  Peter,  Mass  Willie ;  dem  blackguard 
nebber  guine  catch  'em." 

"  But  we  want  him  here,  Benny.  We  shall  need  him  and 
many  others,  I  fear.  That  rascal  Hell-fire  Dick  has  got  off." 

"  Git  off!  Hell-fire  Dick  git  off!  How  he  git  off,  out  o'  da* 
hitch  I  put  on  'em  ?"  demanded  the  negro  in  consternation. 

Briefly, the  major  told  the  story  of  the  good  services  of  Con 
garee  Polly. 

"  Dat  gal  will  be  de  deaf  of  me  yii!"  cried  Benny  Bowlegs. 
"  And  wha  for  done  now  ?" 

"  Fall  back  and  protect  the  house.  We  may  look  for  an  at 
tack  from  these  scoundrels.  It  is  evident  that  Dick  has  not  yet 
joined  them,  or  he  would  stop  their  trailing.  He  now  knows 
where  I  am.  He  knows  that  I  have  no  support." 

"  Wha' !  and  whay's  Benny  Bowlegs  ?  Enty  he's  yer  !" 
And  he  dropped  the  butt  of  the  shot-gun  of  his  master,  with 
which  he  had  armed  himself,  heavily  upon  the  ground,  with  the 
air  of  an  old  soldier  who  knew  his  strength.  "And  whay's 
Little  Peter  ?  Little  Peter  guine  fight  like  de  debbil,  Willie 
Sinclair,  when  de  scratch  come  !" 

"  I  hope  so,  Benny ;  so  we'll  have  Little  Peter  r\  as  soon  as 
possible."  And  he  prepared  to  sound  for  him. 

"  Le'  me  gee  'um  a  call,  Mass  Willie ;  Little  Peter 
hen's  my  music  better  dan  your'n." 

And  the  fellow  blew  three  peculiar  notes  on  his  hunting-horn 
—  an  instrument  with  which  all  southern  negroes  are  pretty 
familiar,  and  which  the  cowdriver  and  the  hog-minder  employ 
as  much  as  the  deer-hunter.  Soon  they  heard  Peter's  response 
and  before  many  minutes  the  fellow  made  his  appearance,  fol 
lowed  by  Tiger.  The  dog  was  lively,  keen,  wistful,  and  impa 
tient —  eager,  apparently,  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the 
where  still,  at  moments,  the  deep,  distant  baying  of  his 
species  was  to  be  heard. 

"  See  how  he  bristle  up  !"  said  Little  Peter,  pointing  to  fch* 
dog. 


NEW   CAUSES   OF   APPREHENSION.  173 

"  T  sooner  hab  Tige  dan  half  ob  dem  foot-sodgers !"  quoth 
Benny,  rubbing  down  the  dog's  bristles. 

The  major  did  not  seem  to  heed  what  was  said.  He  mused 
a  while,  then  remarked  : — 

"  We  have  men  enough  for  our  weapons,  Benny,  if  not  enough 
for  these  outlaws." 

"  Hab  'nough  for  dem  too,  maussa." 

"  I  hope  so !  I  trust  we  shall  have  more  in  another  hour. 
Meantime,  it  might  be  well  to  gather  up  a  dozen  of  the  field 
hands.  They  will -fight  at  a  pinch." 

"  Some  o'  dem,  maussa.  But  it  must  be  a  hard  pinch,  I  tell 
you.  Let  me  stand  behind  Bullhead  Dabe,  Slick  Sam,  and 
Snubnose  Martin,  an'  I  mek'  'em  fight.  Ef  you  say  so,  I  kin 
sen'  off,  and  bring  up  tree,  seben,  fibe  ob  de  boys." 

"Do  so;  send  Peter  at  once.  Where's  the  indigo-field,  this 
year  ?" 

"  Jest  a  mile  off,  back  ob  de  settlement." 

"  It's  'most  time  for  first  cutting,  Benny." 

"  Two  week  off,  at  furdest,  maussa.  Ha !  you  ain't  forgit 
how  to  mek'  a  crop !" 

"  The  hands  are  not  there  V 

"  No,  sah  !  dey're  working  in  de  corn  jest  now ;  and  dat's 
only  tree  quarters  ob  a  mile.  Set  off,  you,  Little  Peter,  and 
bring  up  Bullhead  Dabe,  and  Slick  Sam,  and  Snubnose  Martin  ; 
and  don't  you  say  noting  'bout  de  sawt  ob  work  we  hab  for  'em; 
and  don't  you  stop  for  talk  wid  any  ob  dem  woman.  Woman 
is  always  sure  for  spile  de  sport  ob  sodger  gemplemans.  As  for 
you'  gal,  Congaree  Polly,  'member  I  owe  'em  a  licking,  and 
ef  you  no  'liabe  [behave]  yourself  decent  an'  orderly,  I  hab  for 
gee  um.  Wha'  you  tink,  tis  1dm  let  dat  d — d  polecat,  Debbi! 
Dick,  out  ob  de  hitch  I  mek." 

"You  no  tell  me  so,  Uncle  Benny  !  I  lick  'em  mese'f  S"  ex 
claimed  Little  Peter  indignantly.  "  Wha'  he  hab  for  do  wid 
Debbil  Dick  ?"  and  he  looked  fiercely  inquisitive ;  and,  as  ho 
said  afterward,  he  felt  "  sassy  like  a  wild-cat." 

"Nebber  min'  dat !"  quoth  Benny.  "  Be  off  on  you  trottera 
Lef  de  dog.  We's  maybe  want  'em  yer." 

Par  parenthese,  we  may  mention,  that  a  nickname,  derived 
from  an  event  or  a  characteristic,  sticks  wonderfully  to  a  plaa 


174  THE    FORAYERS. 

tation-negro.  Bullhead  Daby,  and  Slick  Sam,  had  their  epi 
thets  from  characteristic  qualities  ;  Simbnose  Martin  Avas  dis 
tinguished  by  the  most  contemptible  of  his  features,  one  of  the 
meanest  and  "  onnaterallest  leetle  bits  of  noses,"  according  to 
Benny,  that  ever  dared  to  stand  out  from  a  broad  lake  of  face ; 
a  sort  of  petty  islet  in  the  sea  of  Acheron.  Congaree  Polly 
was  so  named  in  contradistinction  to  Wassamasaw  Polly  —  an- 
cther  woman  on  the  same  plantation.  The  prefixes,  in  both 
cases,  were  derived  from  their  places  of  birth.  We  may  add 
that  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  to  find  the  whites  similarly  dis 
criminated  by  the  common  people.  There  were  the  Savannah 
ri-^er  and  the  Edisto  Huttos  for  example;  the  Santee  and 
Ashepoo  and  Edisto  Baltezegars,  &c. ;  and,  in  all  these  and 
many  other  instances,  the  families  were  found  on  opposite  sides 
in  the  war. 

Little  Peter  was  off  in  a  moment  to  bring  up  his  recruits. 
Meanwhile,  the  sounds  of  the  hunt  from  below  seemed  to  ap 
proach.  The  baying  of  the  beagles  could  be  heard  distinctly, 
and  the  cries  of  the  hunters  cheering  them,  on,  were  now  dis 
tiriguished. 

"  We  must  put  ourselves  under  cover,  and  in  readiness.  We 
may  have  to  stand  a  siege,  Benny." 

""  God  be  praise,  Mass  Willie,  we  kin  all  fight  like  de  debbil." 

Benny,  you  will  perceive,  was  piously  inclined. 

"  If  we  can  keep  them  off,  for  a  single  hour,  Benny,  we  shall 
ask  no  odds." 

'  Wha'  you  speck  in  dat  single  hour,  maussa  ?" 

"  Peyre  St.  Julien,  with  a  company  of  my  battalion,  Benny." 

"  Ha  !  I  lub  to  hear  'bout  battalion.  Battalions  is  better  dan 
ngiments." 

"  Rather  !  I  wish  these  scoundrels  to  besiege  us,  Benny,  and 
would  have  them  come  on  with  confidence." 

"  Da's  right ;  for  ef  Cappin  St.  Julien  is  a-coming,  den  w<? 
hab  de  blackguards  in  a  trap." 

"  Exactly !  There  were  only  four  of  them  last  night,  l.-ut 
there  may  be  more  this  morning.  I  suspect  they  have  been 
joined  by  others  of  the  gang." 

"  De  more  de  better  !  Den  de  buzzard  will  hab  better  chance 
at  picking,  and  moutbe,  won't  nose  up  so  many  my  sheep." 


NEW    CAUSES    OF    APPREHENSION.  175 

Benny,  like  most  drivers  on  a  plantation,  usually  spoke  of  it, 
with  all  its  chattels,  as  his  own.  So,  discussing  the  prospects 
before  them,  the  two  took  their  way  to  the  house,  the  do^  fol 
lowing  them,  but  with  some  reluctance. 

Here,  Willie  Sinclair  made  all  his  dispositions  for  defence 
Benny  brought  into  requisition  certain  little  negroeo,  who  19 ere 
set  to  watch  from  housetop,  tree,  arid  kitchen. 4  Oongaree  Polly, 
rather  in  disgrace,  and  terribly  humbled,  war  sent  up  to  thb 
roof,  and  her  head,  looking  pilloried  and  ve-y  black  in  the 
face,  was  thrust  through  the  scuttle;  and, with  watches  set,  and 
weapons  loaded/Willie  Sinclair  bade  the  cook  bring  in  the  din 
ner  as  she  could — his  father  showing  himself  qi  He  impatient  at 
the  prospect  of  having  his  roast  lamb  and  boilec  mitton,  upon 
which  he  prided  himself,  overdone.  The  orders  Ox  his  son  pro 
pitiated  him. 

"  A  cook  that  does  her  dishes  to  rags,  Willie,"  r  _oth  he,  "  is 
an  emissary  of  the  devil." 

"  An  opinion,"  replied  the  other,  "  for  which  my  friend  Cap 
tain  Porgy  would  embrace  you,  sir,  across  the  table." 

"Porgy  —  Captain  Porgy,  sir  ?     Is  it  possible,  Willie  Sinclair, 
that  your  miserable  service  requires  you  to  associate  with  per 
sons  having  such  detestable  names  ?     Why,  sir,  among  gentle 
men,  even  the  fish  of  that  name  is  only  held  fit  for  negroes." 

"  Sir,  I  believe,  with  Shakspere,  that  « a  rose  by  any  other 
name  would  smell  as  sw^et.' " 

"  And  I  don't  believe  in  any  such  doctrine.  Names  are  not 
only  things,  sir,  but  they  are  significant  of  virtues.  Call  a  rose 
a  radish  and  it  bites  the  tongue.  And  that  any  respectable 
service  should  accord  a  commission  to  a  man  named  Porgy  is 
absolutely  monstrous." 

"  Wait,  sir,  till  you  know  my  friend  Porgy." 

"  God  forbid,  sir,  that  I  ever  should." 

"  When  you  do,  sir  — as  I  am  now  sworn  that  you  shall  know 
him  —  I  will  wager  a  wagon-load  of  continental  money  against 
a  Jacobus,  that  you  offer  him  not  only  a  perpetual  seat  at  your 
table,  but  the  entire  management  of  your  cook.  Captain 
Porgy,  sir,  is  the  only  wit  and  buffoon,  sir,  that  I  ever  met,  or 
heard  of,  who  never  suffered  you  once  to  forget  that  he  was  all 
Ac  while  a  gentleman," 


'~<:  THE   FORAYERS. 

And  the  party  sat  dowi  to  dinner 

"Now,"  said  the  veteran,  "  if  these  rascals  will  only  hold  of? 
tiF  VT  have  swallowed  dinner,  I  shall  be  in  better  mood  for  the 
feonflist." 

•  Thought  like  an  Englishman  !"  said  the  major  of  dragoons 
'  4.ncl  how  should  I  think  but  as  ?~n  Englishman,  and  where 
co  yju  flunk  the  American  or  any  other  race,  would  think  dif 
ferently  ?     Yorr  rascally  French  allies  are  not  to  be  quoted  at 
i\\  in  such  matters." 

''And  yet  they  are  held  to  be  perfect  masters  in  such  mat 
ters  ' 

"Ay,  sir,  as  cooks,  to  dress  and  prepare  the  food,  sir,  but  not 
10  eat  it.  (five  them  what  credit  you  please,  as  cooks,  but  the 
grace,  t  ute,  and  general  ability,  with  which  an  Englishman 
eats,  is  unequalled,  sir,  by  any  people." 

"  The  subject  is  one  of  endless  ramifications,  sir,  and  would 
require  for  its  discussion  more  practical  experience  than  I  have 
yet  had  in  such  matters ;  but  we  may  safely  assume,  I  think, 
that  a  people  who  know  so  well  how  to  prepare  the  dishes,  is 
hardly  wanting  in  the  ability  to  do  them  proper  justice." 

"  Well,  sir,  is  that  mutton  to  your  liking  ?" 

"  Exactly,  sir ;  and  you  see  I  am  proving  my  ability  after 
our  poor  American  fashion.  In  respect,  however,  to  the  effect 
which  a  good  dinner,  not  stinted,  has  upon  the  fighting  man, 
you  should  hear  my  friend  Porgy.  lib-  says,  that  an  American 
should  never  be  forced  into  battle  with  a  full  stomach.  He  ad 
mits  the  British  to  be  differently  constituted,  but  thinks  that, 
even  with  them,  the  appetite  should  never  be  fully  pacified  be 
fore  fighting.  With  all  classes,  he  is  of  opinion,  that  the  better 
course  is  to  put  the  dinner  before  them  —  a  good  one  —  as  good 
and  tempting  as  possible  —  let  them  see  it,  till  their  eyes  be 
come  fascinated  —  nay,  let  them  taste  it,  but  only  taste  —  and 
then,  let  the  drums  beat  and  the  bugles  sound  to  quarters. 
Soldiers,  thus  tantalized,  he  asserts  to  be  the  most  dangerous 
customers  in  the  world  —  absolutely  wolfish  —  who  will  then 
tear  and  rend  their  foes,  having  no  fear ;  each  man  having,  as 
it  were,  a  personal  feeling  of  revenge  to  gratify,  as  if  robbed 
by  his  enemy  of  the  choicest  blessing  of  his  life." 

"  He's  no  fool,  that  fish  !     There's  sense  in  the  notion." 


NEW   CAUSES   OP   APPREHENSION.  177 

"  They  tell  a  good  story,"  continued  the  major,  "  of  the  mode 
which  ho  employed  to  convert  a  timid  fellow  into  a  desperado. 
Just  before  the  beginning  of  our  Revolution — " 

"Rebellion,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  rebellion  be  it!  I  care  very  little  now,  for  the 
distinction." 

The  father  growled,  and  pushed  the  Madeira  toward  the  son. 

"Drink,  sir,  and  imbibe  more  sensible  notions  at  once  of 
names  and  things." 

"  Long  life  and  a  good  appetite  for  all  good  things,  sir,  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter  !  Carrie,  my  dear,  wet  your  lips  with 
us—" 

"  Well,  sir,  to  your  story."* 

"Porgy,  sir,  who,  before  the  war,  was  a  rice-planter  on  the' 
Ashepoo,  a  Ion  vivant,  and  fast  liver,  though  a  great  reader, 
and  philosophical  humorist,  was  employed  by  one  of  the  Fen- 
wickes  to  answer  for  him  as  a  friend,  in  an  interview  with  a  gen 
tleman  who  bore  the  challenge  of  one  Major  Pritchard.  Porgy 
would  have  declined,  as  Fenwicke  was  supposed  to  be  constitu 
tionally  timid  ;  but  the  young  fellow  appealed  to  him  with  a 
good  deal  of  pathos.  He  was,  in  fact  almost  friendless  on  the 
occasion  ;  had  quarrelled  with  his  family  and  associates,  and 
was  rather  in  Coventry,  in  consequence  of  some  gaming  trans 
actions.  Porgy 's  good  nature  made  him  yield  ;  but  he  felt  the 
awkwardness  of  going  out  with  a  person  who  might  show  the 
white  feather.  How  was  lie  to  prevent  such  a  discreditable 
exhibition  ?  As  I  have  said,  Porgy  is  something  of  a  philoso 
pher,  and  entertains  peculiar  notions  of  the  effect  of  food,  and 
the  various  sorts  of  it,  upon  the  moral  as  well  as  physical 
nature.  Red  pepper,  for  example,  he  avers  to  be  an  article, 
which,  taken  in  quantity,  will  irritate  the  temper,  but  lessen 
the  nerve.  He  has  similar  opinions  of  other  condiments,  spices, 
and  even  drinks,  in  lessening  the  courage.  Whiskey,  he  holds 
to  be  decidedly  hurtful  to  valor; — " 

"Gad,  there's  something  reasonable  in  the  fellow's  philosophy. 
I  have  that  notion  myself." 

'He  says  that  when  our  militia-men  run — " 

"  As  they  are  monstrous  apt  to  do  !" 

"  It  is  clue  to  the  fact  that  they  drink  whiskey,  and  not  Jamai 

8* 


178  THE    FOKAYEKS. 

ca,  which  lie  values  much  more  as  a  good  moral  stimulus.  But, 
like  you,  sir,  he  has  a  better  faith  in  Madeira,  than  in  any  other 
known  beverage." 

"  I  fancy  I  shall  like  that  fellow,  Porgy." 

"  You  will,  sir ;  but  to  my  story.  The  arrangements  made 
for  the  affair  between  Fenwicke  and  Pritchard,  the  time  fixed, 
and  all  adjusted,  Porgy  took  his  principal  home  to  his  house  the 
morning  before  the  affair  was  to  take  place.  This,  he  did, 
under  the  pretext  of  avoiding  the  sheriff's  officers.  He  kept 
him  locked  up  in  an  upper  chamber,  and  lef:  him  to  himself  for 
twelve  hours,  on  a  slender  supply  of  biscuit  and  Madeira. 
Before  noon  the  supply  was  exhausted,  and  the  housekeeper 
had  no  keys,  and  but  three  cold-boiled  Irish  potatoes  —  which 
Porgy  esteems  fine  food  for  soldiers  —  were  to  be  found  in  an 
open  cupboard.  These  Fenwicke  devoured  without  salt  or 
butter.  At  midnight  Porgy  made  his  appearance  and  made  a 
thousand  apologies.  Fenwicke  was  compelled  to  look  satisfied  ; 
but  when  he  asked  for  supper,  there  was  no  satisfactory  answer 
Porgy  pleaded  some  singular  disappointments  in  his  supplies. 
But  he  got  out  fresh  biscuit  and  over  a  bottle  of  Madeira,  he 
succeeded  in  putting  Fenwicke  into  tolerable  humor.  They 
retired  and  both  slept  late ;  but  descended  finally  to  an  admira 
ble  breakfast  in  which  everything  that  could  excite  appetite 
was  displayed.  Fenwicke's  eyes  glistened.  He  rubbed  his 
hands.  He  was  as  hungry,  by  this  time,  as  a  dragoon's  horse 
on  a  long  scout.  He  sat  down,  but  was  allowed  to  swallow  only 
two  or  three  mouthfuls,  when  Porgy  pulled  out  his  watch  and 
started  up  in  alarm.  «  Good  Heavens,  Mr.  Fenwicke,'  said  he, 
'  we  shall  be  too  late  unless  we  go  at  a  gallop.  It  is  within 
forty  minutes  of  the  time,  and  we  have  three  miles  to  get  to 
the  place  of  meeting.'  Fenwicke  looked  at  him  like  a  hyena. 
'Heavens,  sir,  I  am  famished!'  'Never  mind,'  quoth  Porgy, 
4  we  shall  only  have  a  better  appetite  after  the  affair  is  over. 
Everything  shall  be  kept  warm.  See  to  it,  Tom — on  your  life, 
see  to  it!'  he  cried  to  his  cook — a  famous  fellow,  by  the  way, 
sir,  the  best  cook  in  the  army  —  and  thus  speaking,  he  hurried 
Fenwicke  off  to  the  horses  which  had  previously  been  got  in 
readiness.  They  had  scarcely  mounted  when  Porgy  called  for 
a  bottle  of  porter  which  he  divided  between  himself  and  hi* 


NEW   CAUSES   OF   APPREHENSION.  179 

companion.  '  This  will  stay  your  stomach,  sir,'  he  said,  and 
this  was  all  he  allowed  him,  except  a  single  biscuit,  which 
Fenwicke  snatched  up  from  the  table." 

"  But  why  the  porter,  sir  ?" 

"  To  produce  a  more  morbid  condition  of  the  stomach.  To 
divert  the  impression  as  much  as  possible  from  the  brain.  Such 
was  his  theory  at  least.  His  philosophy  is  a  curious  one,  and 
he  insists  greatly  upon  the  important  uses  of  porter  in  the  case 
of  nervous  men,  with  an  active  imagination." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  was  the  result  ?" 

"  Why,  that  Fenwicke  was  sufficiently  angry,  on  the  gallop, 
to  quarrel  with  his  second,  goaded,  it  may  be,  by  the  provoca 
tive  sort  of  conversation  in  which  Porgy  indulged  by  the  way. 
He  reached  the  ground  in  this  humor,  was  impatient  of  all 
control,  impatient  for  the  fight  —  came  up  to  the  ring  in  hand 
some  style,  rushed  desperately  in  upon  his  antagonist,  got  a 
flesh  wound  on  breast  and  arm,  but  succeeded  in  running 
Pritchard  through  the  body." 

Carrie  Sinclair  shuddered  as  she  said : — 

"  But  he  did  not  kill  kirn,  Willie  ?" 

"  On  the  spot !  Yet,  the  moment  the  deed  was  done,  he 
nearly  fainted,  and  could  scarcely  mount  his  horse.  He  stag 
gered  off  like  one  mortally  hurt  himself." 

"  The  fellow  was  no  coward,"  said  the  old  man,  "  only  ten 
derhearted." 

"  Porgy  asserts  that  no  man  is  absolutely  a  coward  or  abso 
lutely  brave ;  that  all  depends  on  training ;  that  we  are  all, 
more  or  less,  the  creatures  of  circumstance ;  and  that,  in  par 
ticular  conditions  of  mind,  or  body,  or  situation,  we  are  auda 
cious  or  timid;  —  that  every  man,  the  most  brave,  has  moments 
of  fear,*  and  that  the  most  timid,  under  particular  training,  or 
accidental  influences,  will  show  the  most  audacious  valor ;  that 
the  stomach  has  more  to  do  with  it  than  the  brain  or  heart ; 
and  that  the  greatest  secret  in  the  training  of  the  soldier,  is 
proper  food,  of  the  proper  kind,  at  the  proper  time,  and  prop 
erly  cooked.  He  professes  to  believe  that  his  cook  Tom  has 
done  more  toward  teaching  his  men  how  to  fight,  than  all  the 
training  of  all  the  officers." 

*  This  was  subsequently  the  opinion  of  Napoleon  and  Wellington, 


180  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  I  sli all  like  that  fellow  Porgy,  I  fancy.  You  may  bring 
him  Irerc,  Willie,  should  a  chance  offer,  as  soon  as  your  instir 
rection  is  over.  But  I  do  not  believe  in  all  Mr.  Porgy 's  doc 
trines.  For  my  part,  I  may  safely  say  that  I  never  knew  the 
sentiment  of  fear  in  my  life." 

The  major  laughed  —  then  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  if  in  con 
sternation  : — 

"  Take  care,  Lottie,  you  are  about  to  tread  on  papa's 
foot!" 

The  old  man  screamed — throwing  up  both  hands: — 

"  For  God's  sake,  my  child  !" 

The  child  had  never  moved  —  was  sitting  quietly  at  the  table 
—  not  near  the  gouty  member!  Such  was  the  power  of  the 
imagination,  that  the  old  man  had  never  exercised  a  single 
sense,  before  he  screamed.  The  major  of  dragoons  laughed 
merrily.  The  veteran  was  fairly  caught.  He  stormed  out  at 
the  commentary  upon  his  confident  self-applause,  which  was 
the  natural  result  of  the  apprehensions  which  could  so  easily 
be  awakened,  and  so  completely  revealed. 

"  Zounds,  sir !  Do  you  make  me  a  subject  of  your  merri 
ment  !" 

But  the  laughter  of  the  son,  and  even  of  the  girls,  could  not 
be  suppressed ;  and,  in  a  moment  after,  the  veteran  himself 
joined  in  it. 

"Ah  !  Willie,  we  are  but  poor  devils,  the  best  of  us,  with  all 
our  pretension!  Pass  the  bottle,  sir;  the  gout  will  make  any 
man  a  coward  !" 

At  this  moment  the  sounds  of  a  horn  were  heard  within  the 
enclosure,  and  Congaree  Polly  made  her  appearance,  to  report, 
that  the  famous  Pete  Blodgit  was  advancing  from  the  foot  of 
the  garden,  bearing  a  white  flag. 

"  The  scoundrel !     Shoot  him  down,  Willie." 

"  No,  sir,  it  would  only  be  a  bullet  wasted  upon  a  buzzard 
Let  us  see  what  the  fellow  has  to  report,  and  to  demand.  Our 
policy  is  to  gain  time.  We  want  but  an  nour,  if  that !  But 
one  hour !" 

Thus  speaking,  he  rose  from  the  table,  and  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  embassador. 

"  What  is  that  hour  to  bring  forth !     Why  does  he  say  an 


NEW   CAUSES   OF   APPREHENSION.  1*1 

hour  ?"  muttered  the  old  man.     His  self  query  had  suddenly 
set  him  to  think. 

"Yes,"  said  he  solemnly.  "Oh!  God,  what  may  not  an 
hour  bring  forth  !"  and  he  caught  up  his  pistols,  and  bade 
them  wheel  him  to  the  window  which  he  had  undertaken  to 
defend. 


.02  THE    FORA/ERfi. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    FIRST    SHOT. 

PETER  BLODGIT,  flag-bearer  from  the  enemy,  was  welcomed 
at  the  entrance  of  the  dwelling  by  Benny  Bowlegs.  He  was 
made  to  dismount  and  enter  the  house  by  the  veteran  negro, 
much  against  his  will.  His  demand  was  that  some  member  of 
the  household  should  come  out  to  him ;  but  Benny  at  once  re 
pudiated  the  suggestion  with  disgust. 

"  Wha'  you  talk  'bout,  Pete  Blodgit !  You  'speck  gemple- 
mans  to  come  out  yer  and  'tan  'pon  he  legs  to  talk  wid  you,  and 
you  poor  bnekrah  a  setting  on  you  critter  all  de  time  ?  Lord 
ha'  massy,  .  ~,ell  maussa,  de  kurnel,  sich  a  t'irig,  he  come  out 
wid  de  horsewhip.  Git  you  down  from  you  critter,  Pete 
Blodgit,  ann  'tretch  you  legs  in  de  passage  tell  maussa  is  ready 
to  say  —  'Show  de  fellow  in  !'  " 

Like  the  servants  of  most  of  the  lordly  planters  of  that  day, 
Benny  Bov/egs  had  but  small  esteem  for  the  class  whom  he 
described  as  •'  poor  buckrah."  For  Pete  Blodgit,  as  a  sample 
of  this  class  in  particular,  his  disgust  and  contempt  was  with- 
out  limit. 

"Hitch  you' critter  to  de  tree,  Pete  Blodgit,  and  walk  in. 
Walk  light,  you  ye'r,  and  not  heabby,  wid  dem  cow  ledder 
shoes  o'  yourn,  for  de  kurnel  likes  a  pusson  to  walk  accordin' 
to  he  character.  Ef  you  walk  heaby,  he  say  — '  Can't  be  dat 
Pete  Blodgit  hab-de  imperdence  to  walk  into  my  house  as  ef 
lie  been  somebody  !'  " 

Pete  was  not  the  man  to  resen*:  the  scornful  counsel  thus  re 
ceived,  though  he  was  not  so  obtuse  as  not  to  feel  it.  He  kn^w 
the  sort  of  person  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  his  fears 
served  to  subdue  his  resentment.  He  obeyed  implicitly  — 
hitched  his  horse  to  the  tree  —  the  negro  offering  no  assistance 


THE   FIRST   SHOT.  183 

and,  under  Benny's  escort,  was  walked  into  the  basement 
r-asoAge —  not  suffered  to  ascend  into  the  portion  of  the  build 
ing  which  the  family  occupied.  Here,  after  a  few  minutes'  de 
lay,  he  was  confronted,  to  his  great  surprise,  by  the  major  of 
dragoons. 

He  thrust  out  his  flag  —  a  ragged  handkerchief  fastened  to  a 
hickory  rod  —  at  the  approach  of  Willie  Sinclair,  half  doubting 
all  the  Avhile,  that  it  would  quite  suffice  for  his  protection.  But 
the  tones  of  the  major's  voice  reassured  him. 

"  Well,  Blodgit,  what  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"A  flag,  major.  It's  for  my  purtection,  you  know,  as  I'm  a 
a  bearer  of  despatches." 

"  Ah !  you  are  rising  in  the  world  !  Well,  from  whom  do 
you  bear  despatches  ?" 

"  From  the  men  what's  in  the  woods,  major.' 

"  And  who  are  they  ?" 

"  Well,  thar's  a  dozen  on  'em  quite.  You'll  find  their  names 
all  to  this  dockyment." 

"Yes,  but  who  do  they  represent?  Is  it  a  body  of  the  mili 
tary  ?" 

•"  Yes,  I  reckon.     They  says  so.     They've  got  we'pons." 

"Are  they  British  or  Americans,  Pete  ?    Under  which  flag  ?" 

Blodgit  had  not  been  duly  tutored  on  this  head.  He  was  a 
little  disquieted  by  the  query ;  but  a  rapid  thought,  which 
taught  him  that,  as  Americans,  the  party  would  scarcely  dare  to 
question  Major  Sinclair,  instantly  suggested  the  propriety  of 
reporting  them  on  the  other  side. 

"  Well,  major,  I  reckon  they're  sodgers  of  the  king." 

"  So !  And  you,  then,  have  become  a  soldier  of  the  king, 
Pete  Blodgit  f 

"  Lord  presarve  rne,  major,  no  !  I  ain't  no  sodger  no  how, 
but  a  man  of  peace,  and  a  lame  pusson  to  boot.  But  they 
forced  me  to  come,  major,  when  I  didn't  want  to,  and  they 
swore  a  most  furrocious  oath  that  ef  I  didn't  they'd  take  my 
ears  off.  So  that's  the  how  and  the  why  that  you  sees  me 
hyar." 

The  major  readily  received  this  statement  as  probable. 

"  Well,  sir,  and  to  whom  arc,  your  despatches  addressed  ?" 

*•  Well,  I  reckon  to  the  kurnel,  sir,  your  father." 


184  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  How  can  that  be  if  they  are  soldiers  of  the  king  1  M} 
father  is  a  loyalist  you  know." 

"  Ah  !  but  they  says  lie  ain't." 

"  Briefly,  Pete  Blodgit,  these  fellows  are  outlaws,  and  fight  on 
their  own  hook." 

"  Well,  major,  I  reckon  that's  pretty  nigh  the  raal  truth  in 
the  matter." 

Sinclair  was  not  the  man  to  waste  time  in  idle  distinctions, 
regarding  such  rapscallions  as  were  represented  by  Pete  Blodgit. 
He  knew  quite  as  well  as  that  worthy,  the  character  of  the  sort 
of  people  with  whom  he  dealt;  but  his  object  in  the  dialogue 
was  to  gain  time.  Hence  his  questions  and  remarks  hitherto. 
But  he  had  another  object  when  he  asked  the  names  and  number 
of  the  party  in  the  woods. 

"  I  reckon,  major,  there's  nigh  on  to  thirteen  persons  on 
horseback." 

"Not  counting  yourself?" 

"  Oh !  Lord,  yes,  sir.  I  aint  to  be  counted  at  all.  They 
makes  me  do  what  I'm  a-doing." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,  my  poor  Pete.  And  now,  my  good 
fellow,  for  their  names." 

"  Oh  !  1  don't  know  'em  all,  only  some,  but  you'll  read  their 
names  on  the  dockyment." 

"  Ah  !  did  they  all  sign  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  did." 

"  Let  me  see  the  paper.'' 

The  bearer  of  despatches  produced  a  dirty  half  sheet  of  that 
brown  wiry  paper,  which,  in  sheets  of  enormous  size,  was  of 
most  common  use  in  those  periods,  and  the  major  read  as 
follows  :— 

"  To  Kurncl  Sinkeler  : 

"  Those,  old  Sinkeler,  are  to  signify  that  ef  you  don't  surrender 
11  j>  our  friend  and  brother  officer  and  sorlger,  Leftenant  Joel 
Andrews  sometimes  called  'Hell-fire  Dick,'  of  his  royal  ma 
jesty's  regiment  of  loyal  rangers,  third  company  of  foragerb, 
we'll  have  your  heart's  blood  out  of  your  body,  and  thar  shant 
be  stick  or  stone  standing  of  your  big  house  after  we've  gone 
through  it.  These  is  to  say  to  you  that  you  must  give  him  up 


TFE    FIRS'J   SHOT.  186 

to  the  barrer  of  dispatches,  in  hafe  an  hour  after  you  reado  ;«m, 
or  you  may  expeck  the  eternal  vengeance  of  all  consarned. 
[Signed]          "  SAM  BRYDONE  [Skin-the- Serpent] 

"  RAPE  BRUNSON  [the  Trailer}. 

"  JOE  BEST. 

"  ZEKE  RODGERS. 

"  JACK  HALLIDAY. 

•'  WM.  TOLAND. 

"  BENJ.  NELSON." 

Major  Sinclair  smiled  quietly  as  he  read  the  precious  epistle 

"  And  you  say,  Blodgit,  that  there  are  thirteen  of  these  rascals 
hi  the  woods  ?" 

"  Thar's  the  names." 

"  Scoundrel !  Do  you  dare  to  lie  to  me,  when  I  know  that 
there  are  but  seven  of  them  —  all  told." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  major,  but  thar's  thirteen  as  I'm  a  mortal 
sinner." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  that  all  signed.  Here  are  only  seven 
names." 

"  All  .that  could  sign,  major.     Some  kaint  write." 

The  lie  was  prompt  enough ;  but  Sinclair  knew  that  all  such 
would  have  surely  made  their  marks,  the  object  of  the  writers 
being  to  impress  the  garrison  with  their  strength  and  numbers. 

"  Back  to  your  fellows,  and  tell  them,  from  me,  that  we  are 
ready  for  them  were  they  twice  their  number ;  and  do  y^u, 
Blodgit,  thank  your  stars  that  I  do  not  have  you  hung  up  to  a 
swinging  limb  for  bringing  me  such  an  impertinent  paper." 

"  Lord,  major,  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"  I  believe  that;  and  did  I  riot  so  believe  —  did  I  thmk  you 
came  willingly,  I  should  hang  you  up  in  five  minutes.  Be  off 
now  while  your  skin  is  whole." 

"  But,  major,  they're  most  mighty  determinate  persons  —  all  on 
'cm  —  mighty  furrocious,  and  they've  got  rifles  and  muskets, 
and  three  mighty  furrocious  dogs  —  you  kaint  stand  up  agin* 
Vrn,  with  only  one  poor  rifle  and  double  barrel,  and  they'll  not 
let  you  git  to  close  quarters." 

Sinclair  was  pleased  that  Blodgit  noted  his  armory.  The 
weapons  had  been  studiously  put  in  sight  —  all,  at  least,  that 


186  THE    FORAYERS. 

ou/  majoi  desired  lie  should  see.  He  smiled  at  the  speech  of 
the  other  --  smiled  scornfully — and  extending  his  arm,  he 
said  i — 

"  Be  off,  Master  Blodgit  \  and  if  you'll  take  my  counsel  you'll 
take  the  back  track  as  soon  as  these  rascals  shall  come  on.  You 
have  no  taste  for  fighting  I  know,  and  there  are  too  many  of 
them  to  suffer  you  to  share  any  of  the  plunder  should  they  suc 
ceed.  Your  share  of  the  game  will  be  its  dangers  only.  Do  not 
suffer  me  to  draw  bead  or  blade  upon  you — off,  and  say  to  those 
who  sent  you,  that  we  shall  welcome  them  with  wagon-whips  if 
they  venture  within  these  grounds." 

Blodgit,  with  a  wringing  humility  bowed  himself  out,  and 
under  Benny's  esc@rt  mounted  his  nag  and  departed,  the  speed 
of  his  horse  being  accelerated  by  a  smart  application  of  a 
hickory,  which  Benny  Bowlegs  carried  in  his  hand,  very  much 
as  a  field-marshal  carries  baton  or  truncheon. 

"  De  mean  son  ob  a  skunk  !  And  wha'  is  we  for  do  now, 
Mass  Major." 

"  Hither,  Benny  !     Have  you  got  the  boys  below  ?" 

"All  dere,  sir,  in  de  berry  room  wha'  Debbil  Dick  leff. 
Dere's  Bull-Head  Daby,  and  Slick  Sam,  and  Snub-Nose  Martin, 
~nd  Caesar  Fogle,  and  Barney  de  fiddler,  and  two,  tree  more." 

"  Will  they  fight,  Benny  ?" 

"  Ef  you  only  le'  'eir  see  you  and  yer  you,  jest  when  de  time 
come  for  knock  about,  den  he'll  fight." 

"  We'll  keep  them  then,  for  close  quarters  !  We  have  one 
gun,  at  least,  for  each  quarter  of  the  house,  and  pistols  for  half- 
a-dozen  men.  Let  us  now  to  our  preparations,  Benny.  Call 
up  Little  Peter." 

Benny  disappeared,  and  Willie  Sinclair,  muttering  as  he 
went : — 

"  We  must  seem  to  consult  the  old  man,  at  all  events,"  took 
his  way  toward  the  apartment  where  the  veteran  was  keeping 
watch  at  the  window  he  had  undertaken  to  defend.  Here, 
brief  Conference  ensued  between  the  two,  in  which  the  son  made 
i  fuil  report  of  what  had  taken  place  between  himself  and  Blod 
git,  showed  the  insolent  despatch  which  he  had  brought,  listened 
patiently  to  the  fierce  outbreak  of  the  old  aristocrat  as  he  read 
the  document,  and  then  patiently  brought  him  back  to  the  sub 


THE    FIRST   SHOT.  187 

ject  of  the  proposed  defence.  In  doing  this,  our  young  major 
whom  the  war  had  made  a  p(  litician  as  well  as  partisan,  adroitly 
insinuated  into  the  old  man's  mind  all  the  plans  which  he  had 
himself  formed,  for  the  encounter  with  the  marauders.  The 
veteran  was  easily  imposed  upon,  and  the  son  left  him  at  his 
post  while  he  arranged  the  defence  of  the  house.  The  negroes 
were  each  planted  at  his  post,  arms  assigned  them  for  close 
quarters  where  they  wci-3  not  known  to  be  good  shots  —  and 
few  negroes  are  good  shots — and  this  done,  and  Benny  Bowlegs 
and  Little  Peter,  and  another  fellow,  being  armed  with  fowling 
pieces  or  rifles,  Willie  Sinclair  hurried  up  to  the  chamber  for  a 
conference  with  his  sisters. 

The  upper  rooms  of  the  house  commanded  an  extensive  view  of 
the  whole  scene  of  operations,  broken  only  by  occasional  clumps 
of  wood,  and  masses  of  forest.  Before  it  stretched  the  avenue, 
a  noble  colonnade  of  oaks  and  cedars  —  on  the  right  an  open 
field  which  had  been  planted  in  wheat,  but  which  was  now  bare, 
with  here  and  there  a  pine  sapling  growing,  three  or  four  years 
old.  On  the  left  of  the  avenue  was  the  wood  through  which 
"  Dcbbil  Dick"  had  already  made  his  way,  seeking  a  surer 
cover  in  the  thickets  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  public  road. 
Immediately  around  the  dwelling  there  was  an  open  area  of 
less  than  twenty  acres,  the  space  only  interrupted  by  kitchen 
and  out-houses.  Below,  and  between  the  house  and  the  woods 
where  the  outlaws  were  now  harbored,  was  the  garden  contain 
ing  some  three  acres,  and  near  this,  in  fact  adjoining,  was  the 
poultry  region — a  spot  which,  at  another  time,  might  have 
been  sufficiently  attractive  to  our  outlaws.  But  for  the  ambi 
tious  ideas  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  the  outlaws  would  probably  have 
been  quite  content  with  a  general  cleaning  of  the  hen-roosts. 

But  to  note  all  these  parts  of  the  enclosure  required  that  the 
four  rooms  of  the  upper  story  should  all  be  occupied  with  vigilant 
catchers.  In  each,  accordingly,  a  negro  or  two,  male  or  female, 
«/as  assigned  a  station.  To  these,  no  arms  were  given.  The 
weapons,  whether  at  close  quarters  or  long  shot,  being  more 
available  from  below,  in  the  second  story.  The  hand  to  hand 
conflict  could  only  take  place  below,  in  or  around  the  basement, 
or  upon  the  outer  steps  of  the  dwelling.  The  doors  opening 
upon  them  were  now  closed,  and  a  couple  of  sturdy  negroes  as- 


188  THE  FORAYERS. 

signed  to  each.  For  a  close  struggle  the  weapons  were  ample 
against  so  small  a  force  as  threatened.  In  addition  to  swords 
and  pistols,  there  were  knives  —  every  negro  carries  his  own, 
adequate  to  .slaughtering  a  steer  or  hog,  or  slitting  the  weasand 
of  a  buck;  —  there  were  hatchets  and  clubs  of  hickory,  and 
even  tongs  and  poker  were  put  in  convenient  places,  ready  for 
the  hand-to-hand  conflict. 

"  I  have  no  notion  that  these  things  will  be  required,  Carrie," 
said  Willie  Sinclair,  "  for  I  hardly  think  that  these  ruffians  will 
be  bold  enough  to  make  an  assault  now  that  they  know  I  am 
here.  Still,  they  are  desperate  men,  and  the  thing  is  possible 
—  particularly  if  they  have  been  drinking.  As  yet,  too,  their 
chief  leader,  Devil  Dick,  has  not  appeared  among  them,  and  the 
belief  that  he  is  still  here  and  in  custody,  may  work  them  up 
to  some  audacious  attempts.  But  I  rather  think  that  they  will 
confine  themselves  to  long  shots,  and  all  of  them,  it  is  probable, 
carry  rifles.  This  requires  that  you  should  keep  yourself  and 
Lottie  away  from  the  windows.  The  negroes  can  not  be  easily 
seen,  their  black  faces  offering  no  such  conspicuous  contrast  to  the 
darkened  rooms,  as  yours  and  Lottie's  would.  Only  see  you  that 
the  negroes  do  not  neglect  the  watch.  They  can  see  an  object 
if  moving,  at  thrice  a  rifle  distance,  and  that  will  suffice  to  give 
us  time  to  guard  against  all  approaches.  Only  do  not  be  agi 
tated  or  alarmed.  There  is  no  great  danger  —  none  to  you,  my 
dear,  so  long  as  Willie  Sinclair  can  strike  a  stroke,  or  lift 
an  arm  at  all  for  your  protection." 

"Do  I  not  know  it,  Willie  ?  As  for  the  danger  —  look  at 
me,  Willie.  Do  I  show  fear  ?" 

"You  are  a  brave  girl  —  worthy  to  be  a  soldier's  wife! 
and — if  you  hear  a  trumpet,  you  may  look  boldly  up  the 
avenue ;  for  Peyre  St.  Julien  will  certainly  be  here  before  sun 
down." 

Then  it  was  that  the  lips  of  the  young  girl  t.-embled,  and  she 
said,  putting  her  hand  on  her  brother's  wrist:  — 

"But  will  he  have  his  troop  with  him,  Willie?  Will  the 
outlaws  not  intercept  him,  and  with  their  rifles,  from  under 
cover " 

"  Never  fear  !  The  sound  of  his  bugle  will  be  sufficient  to 
disperse  them.  Where's  Lottie?" 


THE    FIRST   SHOT.  189 

"  In  the  blue  chamber." 

"Let  us  go  to  her.  You  must  keep  her  witl  you  all  the- 
while.  She  may  be  tempted  to  show  herself  at  the  windows. 
Lottie!" 

The  child  came. 

"  Lie  down  here,  Lottie.  Cover  up.  Keep  close,  and  don't 
get  up  till  sissy  tells  you.  Will  you  lie  down  now  for  Brother 
Willie,  and  cover  up,  and  keep  close,  and  don't  show  yourself 
at  the  windows?" 

"  But  Willie,  I  don't  want  to  lie  down.  I  don't  want  to  sleep. 
I  want  to  hear.  I  won't  go  to  the  windows.  I  will  sit  down 
with  sissy.  I  know  what  you  mean.  There's  going  to  be  fight 
ing  among  the  soldiers ;  and  I  can't  lie  down  in  the  bed,  Willie, 
I  can't,  when  there's  to  be  fighting.  I  must  sit  up  and  hear ; 
but  I  promise  you,  dear  bubber  Willie,  that  I  won't  go  nigh  the 
windows." 

"  Let  her  sit  with  me,  Willie.  I'll  answer  for  her.  She  shall 
keep  away  from  the  windows.  She  has  promised  you." 

"  To  be  sure,  Willie  —  when  I  promise,  you  know." 

He  kissed  the  child ;  Carrie  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  ; 
then  released  him,  and  he  hurried  below ;  and,  passing  from 
room  to  room,  he  made  all  his  preparations,  and  encouraged,  by 
his  frequent  presence,  his  motley  forces. 

One  of  these,  our  old  acquaintance,  Ben  Bowlegs,  he  drew 
uside  from  the  rest. 

"  Ben,"  said  be,  "  I  am  going  to  put  you  in  position  else 
where.  Take  a  pair  of  these  pistols,  and  the  short  double-bar 
relied  gun.  Our  true  danger  is  from  the  kitchen.  If  these  out 
laws  make  a  rush  and  get  behind  it,  they  will  cover  any  win 
dow  on  this  side  of  the  house.  You  mustget  to  the  kitchen  and 
hide  yourself  in  the  loft.  There  are  two  little  windows  in  the 
back  of  it  which  will  enable  you  to  prevent  them  from  taking 
shelter  in  that  quarter.  You  must  steal  out  and  make  your 
way  thither  at  once,  with  the  weapons  I  have  mentioned.  The 
post  is  so  important  that  I  would  go  there  myself,  but  that  I 
must  not  leave  the  house.  I  must  see  that  the  people  do  their 
duty  here." 

"  Dat's  sartinly  de  way,  Major  Willie.  I  bin  t'ink  bout  de 
kitchen,  mese'f." 


190  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Quickly  then,  to  your  post,  and  before  these  fellows  begin 
to  attack." 
.  "  I  gone,  Major  Willie  !  I  gone  !" 

And,  snatching  up  gun  and  pistols,  Benny  Bowlegs  rapidly 
darted  across  the  space  of  thirty  yards,  which  separated  the 
kitchen  from  the  dwelling.  Thus,  with  all  his  precautions 
taken,  our  major  of  dragoons  ascended  to  the  place  where  the 
veteran  was  keeping  watch,  seated  comfortably  in  his  arm-chair, 
his  game  leg  upon  its  cushions,  and  two  great  horseman's  pistols 
in  his  clutches,  with  both  muzzles  ready  to  give  tongues  at  the 
half-opened  window.  His  position  also  enabled  him  to  com 
mand  one  of  the  doors  opening  upon  the  central  passage. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  sir,"  said  the  major,  "  that  I  have  had  quite 
as  much  dinner  as  I  desired." 

"  Not  the  worse  for  it,  Willie,  if  your  man  Porgy  be  right  in 
his  philosophy.  But  the  things  are  unremoved.  Fall  to,  if  you 
think  proper." 

"  No  !  I  find  it  not  so  easy  to  eat  now.  Still  that  mutton 
was  very  fine." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  a  proverb  against  cold  mutton.  Hack  away 
%t  that  tongue,  which  I  can  warrant.  It  is  home  cured." 

"  Ay,  and  of  a  quality  to  cure  a  man  of  absenteeism." 

"  Would  it  could  cure  you,  Willie !" 

"  It  will  not  just  now,  sir.  By  the  way,  sir,  my  friend  Porgy 
insists  that  the  English  proverb  against  cold  mutton  is  all  a 
mistake  of  taste ;  that  mutton  is  really  more  preferable  cold 
than  warm." 

"  Egad,  I  should  have  ventured  the  opinion  long  ago  myself, 
but  that  I  never  take  ground  against  a  proverb.  I  shall  cer 
tainly  be  pleased  to  know  this  Porgy.  Can  he  fight  as  well  as 
philosophize  ?" 

"  That  is  the  most  remarkable  of  his  characteristics — some 
what  in  the  teeth  of  a  proverb  also.  He  fights  like  a  bull-dog, 
and  in  action  almost  seems  to  lap  blood.  But  he  always  pro 
fesses  a  reluctance  to  go  into  action,  and  insists  that  nothing  but 
training  has  kept  him  all  his  life  from  showing  a  white  feather 
Come,  sir,  let  me  fill  you  a  glass  of  this  Madeira." 

"  Why  not,  Willie  ?  I  confess  to  relishing  my  wine  more  to 
day,  than  I  have  done  any  day  within  the  last  six  months." 


THE   FIRST   SHOT.  19} 

"  What !  including  the  time  of  my  Lord  Rawdon's  visit  ?" 
"Ah!"  with  a  deep  sigh  —  ah!  no!     That  was  an  exception. 

I  confess,  Willie,  that  on  that  occasion  I  distinctly  saw  the  '  Bottle 

Reel.'" 

"  That  was  a  serious  error,  my  dear  father,"  said  the  son,  with  a 

grave  shake  of  the  head,  "in  the  case  of  so  steady  a  loyalist." 
" Get  out,  you  varlet.     Ha  !  —  we  are  to  have  it." 
A  wild  scream  from  the  woods,  a  shot,  and  the  rattling  of  glass  in 

the  upper  windows,  silenced   the  conversation,  and  our  major  of 

dragoons  was  instantly  upon  the  alert. 


193  THE  FORAYERS. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

THE  LEAGUER  —  THE  RELIEF. 

PETE  Blodgit,  glad  to  get  off  without  hurt  or  hinderance  from 
the  Barony,  whither  he  had  gone  only  under  compulsion  of  the 
outlaws,  rode  with  due  speed  to  the  thicket  where  they  har 
bored,  and  reported  the  ill  success  of  his  mission.  The  party 
there,  in  the  absence  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  was  led  by  Sam  Bry- 
done,  otherwise  Skin  -  the  -  Serpent.  Brydone  was  a  fellow  not 
very  unlike  his  superior,  possessing  all  his  brutal  and  ruffianly 
qualities  but  his  merits  only  in  degree.  His  cupidity  was  quite 
as  great,  if  not  greater;  and  this  passion  sufficed  to  urge  upon 
him  the  assault  of  the  Barony,  where  he  calculated  upon  profit 
able  pickings,  quite  as  much  as  his  desire  to  extricate  his  prin 
cipal  from  the  captivity  into  which  he  had  unwarily  fallen.  As 
yet,  the  outlaws  had  no  notion  that  Dick  had  escaped ;  and 
the  plunder  of  the  house  was  a  desire  that  received  an  addi 
tional  impulse  in  their  minds,  from  the  hope  to  rescue  their 
comrade.  They  were  encouraged  by  the  report  of  Blodgit,  as 
to  the  feebleness  of  the  garrison — a  single  man,  even  though 
so  well  known  and  greatly  feared  as  Willie  Sinclair,  not  being 
regarded  as  likely  to  offer  much  resistance  to  a  stout  band  of 
seven  old  forayers.  This  was  the  real  number  of  the  outlaws, 
not  including  Blodgit ;  their  increase  of  force  being  due  to  the 
arrival  of  Zeke  Rodgers,  the  fellow  who  owned  the  dogs,  who 
had  brought  with  him  besides  three  others,  Halliday,  Toland 
and  Nelson,  all  tories,  whose  taste  for  the  regular  service,  under 
his  majesty's  officers,  had  gradually  given  way  to  the  passion 
Lfor  a  more  free  and  easy  disposition  of  their  time  and  persons. 
They  were,  all  of  them,  briefly  speaking  in  the  language  of  the 
country,  outlaws  —  cattle  -  reivers,  squatters,  houseburners,  and 
plunderers  —  unrestrained  by  any  laws  but  those  of  force,  and 


THE  LEAGUER  —  THE   RELIEF.  193 

rf jkless  equally  of  all  moral  restraints,  whether  of  God  or  of 
^society.     They  prepared  at  once  for  the  assault  of  the  Barony. 

But  they  had  no  plans,  no  designs  —  and  simply  calculated 
to  operate  by  sheer  force  of  numbers,  and  the  terrors  which 
they  might  inspire. 

"You  hear,  boys,"  said  Brydone,  after  Blodgit  had  made  his 
report  —  "  thar's  but  one  white  man  we've  got  to  deal  with  — 
Willie  Sinclair.  He's  h-11  to  fight,  we  know,  but  what's  one 
man  when  we've  got  the  we'pons  ?  Old  Sinclair's  too  lame  to 
git  out  of  his  easy-chair,  and  the  niggers  ain't  of  no  account,  no 
how, in  a  scrimmage.  What's  a  rifle,  a  shot  gun,  and  a  few  pup 
py  pistols?  Not  much  ;  when  hyar,  you  see,  thar's  four  on  us 
with  rifles,  and  three  with  fowling-pieces.  All  we've  got  to  do 
is  smash  the  windows  with  a  volley  of  buckshot  from  the  guns, 
and  then  let  the  men  what  fires  make  a  rush  and  git  across  the 
garden  to  the  kitchen,  and  git  into  kivcr  behind  that.  The 
rifles  kin  watch  doors  and  windows  all  the  time.  First,  then, 
we'll  creep  up,  close  as  we  kin,  to  the  garden-fence,  pull  off 
some  of  the  palings,  and  steal  up  among  the  shrubs  till  we're 
/iigh  enough  to  blaze  away.  Then  let  drive  at  the  windows, 
all  three  on  you,  with  the  shot-guns  ;  then  make  a  rush  for  the 
kitchen,  and  the  boys  with  the  rifles  will  keep  their  beads  rest 
ing  on  door  and  window,  so  that  any  head  that  lifts  to  sight 
you,  shall  draw  a  bullet.  You  hears  1  Does  you  all  onder- 
stand  1" 

"All  right,  Sam,"  was  the  reply;  and  Halliday,  Toland,  and 
Nelson,  the  men  carrying  fowling-pieces,  prepared  for  the  part 
assigned  them. 

The  rattling  of  the  window-glass,  shattered  by  the  buckshot, 
which  had  disturbed  the  hobanobbing  of  the  veteran  and  his 
son,  indicated  the  performance  of  the  first  act  in  this  simple 
little  drama. 

It  sent  Willie  Sinclair,  with  due  haste,  to  the  upper  cham 
bers.  He  was  quite  aware  that,  beyond  the  smashing  of  the 
glass,  there  could  be  no  d. -image  done,  unless  his  orders,  that  all 
parties  should  keep  in  cover  as  he  placed  them,  had  been  dis 
obeyed. 

This  was  not  the  ease.  He  found  all  safe,  and  Carrie  Sin 
clair  seized  his  arm,  as  he  entered  the  room,  which  had  chiefly 

9 


1 94  THE    FOBAYERS. 

Buffered  from  the  shot  —  her  eye  flashing,  and  no  tremor  on  her 
Tame. 

"  They  have  begun,  Willie,  and  now  ought  we  not  to  have  some 
weapons  here?  We  could  surely  do  something  from  this  quar 
ter,  Willie." 

"  No,  Carrie,  dear  ;  there  is  no  need  to  tax  your  valor.  We 
•.mist  only  try  your  patience  and  endurance,  no  small  part  of  the 
iducation  for  a  soldier  and  a  soldier's  wife.  Only  keep  Lottie 
ilosc  to  the  floor,  and  keep  as  closely  to  the  floor  yourself  as 
jossible.  We  are  quite  enough  for  these  fellows  below,  and 
here  we  need  all  our  weapons.  But,  hark !" 

Pistol-shots  were  heard  —  one  —  two. 

"  That  is  Benny  Bowlegs !  I  looked  for  it  there.  Down, 
Jarrie  —  close,  while  I  take  a  peep." 

Glancing  obliquely  through  the  half-closed  shutter,  in  the 
direction  of  the  garden,  Willie  suddenly  raised  the  fowling- 
piece  which  he  grasped,  and  fired  instantly.  He  was  about  to 
discharge  the  second  barrel,  when  he  promptly  drew  back,  and 
clasping  Carrie  about  the  waist,  drew  her  to  the  floor  with  him. 
In  another  moment  of  time,  a  bullet  passed  between  the  shut 
ters,  and  was  buried  in  the  angle  of  the  opposite  wall. 

"  You  see,  Carrie,  you  must  keep  close.  These  fellows  watch 
3very  opening.  Keep  the  negroes  at  the  opposite  windows. 
There  is  no  cover  on  that  side  for  the  approach  of  the  rascals 
within  rifle  distance.  And  now  a  kiss  —  I  must  go  below. 
We  have  tickled  some  of  the  scamps,  I  am  sure." 

He  went  below,  and  forcibly  rolled  his  father  back  from  his 
station  at  the  window.  In  the  anxiety  of  the  veteran,  he  had 
leaned  forward  upon  the  jambs,  with  his  pistol  cocked  and 
ready,  and  his  game-leg  upon  the  floor,  the  pillows  upon  which 
it  rested  having  slipped  off  in  the  eagerness  of  his  movement. 
He  was  groaning  with  pain,  but,  in  his  excitement,  mentally 
unconscious  of  its  cause. 

"  What's  done,  Willie  ?  Oh  !  I  am  hurt  somewhere,  Willie. 
I  feel  the  pain  of  a  wound,  but  where  it  is,  sir,  I  can  not  tell,  by 
Heaven !" 

"In  your  foot,  sir — your  pillow  was  shot  off,  sir,  and  your 
game  leg  has  got  all  the  hurt." 

"  Ah  !  so  it  is  !     There  !  there  !     Don't  touch  it  for  your  life, 


THE   LEAGUER -r-THS   REMfcF.  195 

Harry!  I  never  let  any  one  but  Carrie  touch  it!  She  gives 
no  pain.  Call  her  down  for  a  moment.  Yon  are  too  rough  a 
nurse." 

Carrie  appeared,  replaced  cushions  and  foot,  and  was  again 
driven  up  to  the  chamber. 

"  The  girl  is  just  as  cool  as  an  old  soldier.     She  will  make 
soldier's  wife,  sir.     Well,  Willie,  what  has  been  done.     There 
were  bhots  from  the  kitchen,  and  above  stairs?     Did  you  fire?" 

"  Emptied  one  barrel  of  buck  upon  a  fellow  who  was  sneak 
ing  off  among  the  box  in  the  garden." 

"  Did  you  stretch  him  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  I  seldom  miss  ;  and  it  could  not  be  more  than 
sixty  yards  off.  But  my  flash  drew  a  rifle-shot  upon  the  win 
dow,  and  I  dared  not  look." 

"  They  are  at  the  kitchen,  are  they  ?" 

"  They  have  been ;  but  I  suspect  they  have  found  the  kitchen 
fires  too  warm  at  this  time  of  day.  I  sent  Benny  Bowlegs 
there,  well  armed,  to  help  the  cook.  They  were  his  pistols  that 
we  heard." 

'  Benny  is  cool  as  a  cucumber,  and  steady  as  a  pine.  He  will 
not  waste  gunpowder.  Ha  !  there  is  another  volley.  They 
must  have  some  dozen  guns." 

"  These  discharges  are  all  from  fowling-pieces." 

"  Don't  I  know  that,  sir  ?  But  there  would  seem  a  dozen  of 
them." 

4<  Half  the  number,  and  double-barrels  would  give  that  fire 
They  have  only  broken  a  few  more  panes." 

"  The  fools, to  waste  their  ammunition." 

"  Their  purpose  is  probably  to  make  a  rush  for  the  house  un- 
-er  the  fire.  I  must  look  in  upon  the  boys  in  the  basement,  and 
give  them  a  drink  all  round." 

And, turning  a  silver  mug  doAvn  upon  the  mouth  of  a  decanter 
of  Jamaica,  Willie  Sinclair  supplied  the  negroes  keeping  guard 
in  the  great  passage  and  below. 

"  Boys,"  he  said  to  the  latter,  '•  we'll  have  a  drink  all  round, 
that  we  may  be  better  able  to  thrash  these  dirty  rascals,  should 
they  dare  to  come.  I'll  give  you  drink,  and  you'll  give  them 
the  devil.  Benny  Bowlegs,  let  me  tell  you,  has  already 
knocked  over  half  a  dozen  or  more,  and  I  have  stretched  out 


196  TEE  FORAYERS. 

as   many.      I'm   only  afraid  you'll   have   little  or   nothing  to 
do." 

"  Only  le'  'em  come,  maussa,  da's  all !"  was  the  one  response 
of  all,  as  they  drank  —  drank  deep,  as  a  negro  knows  how  to 
drink  —  with  head  thrust  out,  lips  trembling,  and  eyes  alread} 
moistened  with  delight. 

"  Wait  for  the  word,  boys,  that's  all !" 

Then  as  they  began  to  jabber  loudly  with  each  other,  promis 
ing  and  boasting  of  their  future  performances,  our  major  stopped 
them — 

"  Shut  up,  boys.  Barking  dogs  don't  bite  —  remember  that 
Would  you  give  tongue  before  you've  got  the  scent  1  Not  a 
word  now!  Wait  till  I  give  the  word  —  wait  till  you  see  me 
at  work  —  then  take  hold,  and  see  that  you  make  your  teeth 
meet  in  the  flesh  !" 

"Le'  'em  come,  young  maussa  —  da's  all !" 

And  giving  them  a  second  sup  of  the  bottle,  enough  to  enli 
ven  their  courage  without  enfeebling  their  strength,  Willie  Sin 
clair  hurried  up-stairs  witli  the  empty  decanter. 

"  There's  a  lull  in  the  storm,  Willie." 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  scamps  are  in  consultation  doubtless.  They 
have  no  head,  sir ;  though  where  that  scoundrel,  Devil  Dick, 
may  be,  it  is  difficult  to  conjecture.  These  fellows  really  have 
no  plans.  They  are  of  the  class  of  bull-heads  —  that  simply 
know  how  to  rush  and  butt,  and  the  moment  they  encounter  a 
wall,  they  slink  off  with  their  tails  down.  This  is  their  oase 
now.  To  give  us  a  scare,  and  under  cover  of  it,  rush  to  As 
assault,  is  all  that  they  know  how  to  do.  They  are  like  .^ 
tiger — disappointed  in  the  first  spring,  they  steal  back  into  the 
jungle." 

"  As  the  case  stands,  they  may  fire  at  us  all  day." 

"  They  will  hardly  do  that,  sir  !  Like  the  tiger  again,  they 
will  wait  for  night,  and  then  comes  our  danger  !  While  we 
have  the  light  to  see,  they  will  hardly  dare  to  expose  them 
selves  in  assault;  but, with  the  darkness, we  can  do  nothing  but 
watch  at  all  the  ports,  and  be  prepared  as  well  as  we  can  for 
the  close  encounter." 

"  Surely,  Willie,  we  have  nothing  then  to  fear  We  can 
certainly  with  our  force  overcome  them." 


THE  LEAGUER THE  RELIEF  197 

"A/,  sir,  butcher  them!  as  by  God's  help  we  will! "mut 
tered  the  other  fiercely.  -"But  we  must  still  lose  in  such  a 
conflict.  To  conquer  these  wretches  is  a  very  small  source  of 
satisfaction  ;  but  to  know  that  one  life,  precious  to  our  hearts, 
has  been  sacrificed  in  doing  so,  is  very  terrible." 
It  is,  Willie  ;  it  is  ;  —  where  are  the  girls  now  ?" 

'  Up-stairs,  sir, 'in  safety  !" 

"Willie,  my  son,  I  should  die  of  a  broken  heart  —  it  would 
kill  me,  Willie,  if  one  of  these  dear  children  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  these  outlaws!" 

"Need  I  tell  you,  father,  that  my  head  must  be  low  —  my 
eyes  shut  —  my  arm  paralyzed  —  before  harm  shall  come  to 
them  !  Were  it  not  better,  sir,  that  I  should  help  you  up-stairs, 
sir,  where  you  can  have  them  under  your  own  eye  ?" 

"  What,  Willie  Sinclair,  would  you  have  me  leave  my  post  ?" 

"  We  have  enough  here,  sir;  —  and  —  T  our  foot !" 

"  D — n  the  foot,  sir  !  What  is  the  pain  of  the  foot  when  the 
soul  is  in  agony  ?  No,  sir  ;  no,  Willie  ,  here  I  stick,  at  my  post, 
ready  for  the  enemy.  I  see  what  you  fear,  Willie ;  but  I  do 
not  fear.  You  think  me  unequal  to  the  struggle.  But  you 
si i all  see  that  a  man  with  a  brave  spirit,  is  not  less  a  man  be 
cause  he  has  a  crippled  limb  !" 

Willie  Sinclair  laughed  —  laughed  merrily. 

"  You  are  right,  sir,  right.  Only  so  use  your  pistols,  as  to 
keep  the  rogues  from  your  toes." 

Some  popping  shots  were  now  heard.  Then  a  pause,  and 
after  a  little  interval  a  volley.  The  glass  was  again  shattered 
— this  time  directly  above  the  head  of  the  veteran  —  and  the 
fragments  tumbled  about  his  ears  in  all  directions.  Had  Willie 
not  drawn  him  away  from  the  window-jambs,  he  would  have 
been  peppered  with  small  shot. 

"  Swan-shot  as  I  live,"  said  the  major,  gathering  the  bits  of 
lead  about  the  floor.  "  This  was  delivered  from  the  garden 
What  can  Benny  be  about  ?  He  could  surely  have  touched  the 
i'ascal  in  that  quarter." 

Just  then  a  single  shot  was  heard. 

"  Ah  !  there,  the  old  fellow  speaks  !  Well,  sir,  we  must  only 
-.ait  our  time.  We  may  have  the  close  hug  at  nightfall." 

the  major  hurried  away  to  his  several  parties^above  and 


198  THE  FORAYERS. 

below,  to  see  that  they  were  watchful.  There  was  a  lull  in  tk* 
storm  of  nearly  half  an  hour.  The  suspense  became  very  irk 
some  to  all  parties.  They  could  see  no  enemy  —  dared  not  veil 
hire  to  look  out  —  and  had  no  knowledge  of  what  had  been 
done.  Suddenly,  in  the  deepest  hush,  the  faint  sounds  of  a 
bugle  were  heard. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Willie,  "  he  comes  at  last.  We  shall  now  havti 
a  dash  at  these  rascals." 

"  Who  comes,  Willie  ?" 

"  Peyre  St.  Julien,  at  the  head  of  as  brave  a  captain's  com 
mand  of  troopers  as  ever  drew  broadswrord." 

"St.  Julien,  ha!  I  would  it  had  been  anybody  else!' 
growled  the  veteran. 

"  And  why,  sir  ?  Sc.  Julien  is  as  noble  a  fellow  as  ever 
crossed  charger  in  battlo." 

"  Ay,  sir,  but  he  is  a  -ebel  to  his  king  !" 

"  Why,  so  am  I,  sir !" 

"  True,  and  the  greater  my  sorrow,  Willie ;  but  I  do  not 
relish  these  Frenchmen." 

"  Why,  Lord  bless  you,  sir,  he's  no  more  Frenchman  than  I 
am !" 

"  He's  the  son  of  a  Frenchman,  sir,  and  he  has  an  eye  on 
/our  sister  Carrie ;  and  I  prefer  that  my  daughter  should  not 
marry  any  but  a  man  of  British  stock." 

In  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  the  father  had  betrayed  him 
self,  so  as  to  reveal  the  true  secret  of  the  cold  treatment  which 
St.  Julien  had  always  received  at  his  hands.  It  was  only  by 
reserve  and  coldness  that  he  could  repel  the  approaches  of  the 
young  man,  who  was  not  only  of  the  best  blood,  but  the  best, 
character  of  the  country.  Willie  Sinclair  was  about  to  answer 
with  soi.io  sharpness,  for  he  was  the  sworn  brother  of  St.  Julien, 
but  a  moment's  reflecti*  n  satisfied  him  that  he  should  rather 
hurt  than  help  his  friend's  cause,  by  entering  into  any  argu 
ment,  or  making  any  reply.  The  bugle  again  sounded,  and  he 
disappeared  in  silence  from  the  apartment.  Hurrying  up  stairs, 
ne  encountered  Carrie  Sinclair  in  the  passage.  She  too  had 
heard  the  bugle,  and  her  cheek  was  flushed,  and  she  now  trem 
bled,  as  she  never  for  an  instant  had  done  during  the  whoift 
leaguer  of  jhe  nitlaws.  Willie  kissed  her  cheek,  and  putting 


THE   LEAGUEIi —THE   RELIEF.  199 

his  arm  about  her  waist,  drew  her  to  a  window  overlooking  the 
entrance  by  the  avenue.  At  that  moment,  the  whole  train  of 
horsemen  were  wheeling  into  the  enclosure,  a  gay  and  gallant 
troop,  their  swords  flashing  in  the  evening  sunlight,  and  the 
bugler,  at  intervals,  merrily  timing  their  advance.  At  their 
head  rode  a  tall  and  noble  captain,  whose  white  plume  floated 
loftily  above  his  helmet  —  a  single  feather  of  the  heron  —  and 
whose  flashing  sword  was  waved  in  the  direction  of  the  dwel 
ling. 

"  Strange  !"  said  Willie;  "  I  wonder  who  leads,  Carrie.     It 
is  not  St.  Julien." 

He  mocked  her,  and  she  knew  it ;  and  burying  her  face  for 
a  moment  in  his  bosom,  she  said  : — 

"  It  is,  Willie  !     You  can  not  deceive  me  !" 

"  Then  he  has  grown  stouter  since  I  last  saw  him,  and  does 
not  carry  himself  with  half  the  grace  of  former  times." 

"  Fie  !  you  tease  !     But  I  know  you." 

And  now  the  strains  of  the  bugle  were  long  and  loud ;  and 
Willie  Sinclair,  rushing  down  stairs,  threw  open  the  door  of  the 
hall  in  season  to  welcome  his  companion-in-arms  at  the  entrance. 
Carrie,  meanwhile,  full  of  tremors,  remained  waiting  in  hei  cL 
ber.  Little  Lottie,  not  discouraged  by  her  sister,  had  fi. 
her  brothei  down  the  stairs. 


200  THE    FOBAYERS. 


CHAPTER   XX 

SCOURING     THE     WOODS. 

« 

BUT  where,  while  these  events  were  passing,  was  the  fierce 
and  brutal  outlaw,  Dick  of  Tophet  1  One  would  think  that,  ir« 
an  affair  which  he  had  begun,  the  leaguer  of  the  Barony,  and  in 
which  he  was  so  deeply  interested,  his  presence  would  not  be 
wanting,  nor  would  he  have  been  but  for  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  and  because  of  the  exercise  of  that  degree  of  pnideii~«. 
essential  to  his  own  progress,  which  the  old  soldier  is  seldom- 
persuaded  to  forget. 

We  have  seen  by  what  arts  and  what  endurance  of  torture 
he  contrived  to  make  his  escape  from  his  bonds.  When  he 
emerged  from  the  passage-way  of  the  basement,  the  coast  was 
clear.  Congaree  Polly,  who  had  been  passing  to  and  fro,  was 
now  up-stairs  busy  spreading  the  table-cloth  and  setting  plates 
He  could  hear  the  clatter  of  these  below,  as  she  severally  laid 
them  on  the  board.  In  the  court  nobody  was  to  be  seen  but  a 
little  group  of  negroes,  and  they  saw  him  as  he  moved  away 
and  shouted  aloud,  not  in  alarm,  but  with  curiosity  as  at  the 
sight  of  any  stranger ;  but  little  negroes  are  for  ever  shouting 
and  squalling,  and  neither  master  nor  cook  gives  much  heed  to 
their  clamors.  Dick  was  more  heedful  and  watched  the  urchins 
ror  awhile  before  moving — watched  the  whole  court,  and  that 
with  very  dissatisfied  expression.  He  could  nowhere  see  his 
horse  which  he  had  fastened  to  a  neighboring  tree.  Good  Benny 
Bowlegs,  old  soldier  that  he  was,  had  duly  cared  for  the  beast  — 
governed  by  two  reasons,  first,  the  good  feeling  of  sympathy  which 
lie  always  entertained  for  a  stout,  well-built  dragoon  horse,  and 
next,  as  he  was  one  of  the  trophies  of  war,  a  part  of  the  spolia 
opima,  which  somehow  usually  occupies  no  small  share  of  the 
regards  of  all  old  soldiers.  Dick  ce  Tophn*  naturally  conjee 


SCOURING   THE   WOODS.  201 

tared  that  the  beast  was  safely  sheltered  in  the  stables  of  the 
oarony,  and,  no  doubt,  totally  heedless  of  his  master's  condi 
tion,  munching  comfortably  upon  his  corn  and  fodder.  Dick 
groaned  as  he  reflected  upon  his  loss,  but  there  was  no  present 
remedy. 

"  Let  me  only  git  clear  out  of  this  fix,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  "  and  I'll  find  the  pay  for  him  somehow  out  of  this  same 
harry stocratic  Sinclair." 

He  wasted  no  long  time  in  idle  lamentations.  The  horse  was 
gone,  and  if  he  desired  to  go  also  in  safety,  he  must  needs  tramp 
quickly  and  on  his  own  legs.  He  looked  out  east  and  west, 
north  and  south,  shaped  out  his  course  in  his  mind,  noted  the 
cover  at  which  he  was  to  strike,  and  darted  forth  upon  his  prog 
ress.  Again  the  little  negroes  yelled  and  shouted,  and  clapped 
their  hands  and  pointed  with  all  their  fingers,  and  rolled  about 
and  threw  up  clouds  of  dust  over  their  heads ;  but  they  failed 
to  attract  the  attention  of  anybody  whose  policy  it  might  be  to 
arrest  the  flight  of  the  outlaw  —  and  he  pushed  forward  accor 
dingly,  without  giving  them  the  slightest  heed,  but  with  the 
savage  mental  determination  to  knock  half  a  score  of  them  on 
the  head  should  they  happen  to  cross  his  path  for  a  moment. 
He  had  snatched  up  a  carving-knife  from  the  pile  which  Con- 
garee  Polly  had  laid  down  on  a  table  in  the  lower  passage  pre- 
Daratory  to  laying  them  out  for  dinner,  and  thus  armed,  he  was 
in  the  mood  to  do  desperate  things,  whether  with  necessity  or 
not. 

His  coarse  lay  along  the  wood  that  skirted  the  lower  line  of 
the  avenue,  but  it  required  a  progress  of  fully  a  hundred  yards 
over  the  open  court  before  he  could  reach  this  shelter.  To 
strike  a  route  directly  below,  would  be  to  risk  exposure  to  the 
negroes  whom  he  now  felt  sure  were  traversing  the  edges  of  the 
forest,  and  along  the  fence  which  ran  all  along  the  lower  line  of 
the  settlement.  The  circuit  which  he  proposed  to  make  was 
considerable,  but  it  was  the  only  one  which  promised  him  a  re 
treat  without  interruption,  and  such  a  retreat  was  essential  in 
his  condition  —  sore,  scorched,  suffering,  and  with  scarcely  a 
weapon  in  his  grasp. 

Vory  painful  was  his  progress.  In  the  first  moment  of  his 
incitement,  'after  getting  loose  from  hie  bonds,  he  did  not  feel 


202  THE   FORAYKUS- 

so  greatly  the  torture  that  he  had  undergone,  ana  which  he  had 
endured  with  a  patient  fortitude  which  would  not  have  dis 
credited  the  ancient  martyrology.  In  a  better  cause  and  nobler 
career,  it  would  have  lifted  the  ruffian  into  heroism.  But  when 
lie  began  to  walk,  and  had  fairly  succeeded  in  obtaining  the 
partial  woodland  cover  along  the  avenue,  his  sufferings  began 
to  make  themselves  felt  with  no  ordinary  degree  of  acuteness 
By  this  time,  his  back  was  one  entire  blister  —  his  hands  and 
wrists  ;  his  feet  and  ankles  —  all  shared  in  the  same  sort  of  burn 
ing  torment,  and  he  writhed  at  every  ste[i  over  the  hot  sands, 
and  shrunk  from  every  ray  of  the  direct  sun.  He  realized  in 
degree  the  pains  of  the  march  such  as  Milton's  Satan  was  forced 
to  take  when  first  recovering  from  the  terrible  conflict  which 
precipitated  him  from  the  celestial  empire.  He  too  walked  — 

"With  uneasy  steps 
Over  the  burning  marie, .... 

. . . ."  And  the  torrid  clime 
Smote  on  him  sore  besides." 

But  still,  like  the  fallen  angel  he  endured  and  strode  away, 
writhing  the  while,  and  groaning  —  nay  sometimes  swearing 
most  blasphemously,  like  the  evil  one  to  whom  his  fol 
lowers  compared  him.  Still  he  went  forward.  A  thousand 
times  he  felt  like  casting  himself  down  upon  the  leaves  anc 
grass  —  this  was  after  he  had  got  into  the  woods  —  but  then  his 
courage  revived  —  perhaps  his  fears  —  and,  suffering  scalding 
sensations  at  every  step  he  plunged  forward,  slowly  but  cer 
tainly  increasing  the  distance  between  himself  and  his  late 
prison-house.  He  was  unpursued — that  was  something;  had 
it  been  otherwise,  he  would  have  given  up  the  thought  of  flight, 
and,  in  his  desperation,  would  have  welcomed  the  deadliest 
struggle,  only  seeking  to  do  as  much  mischief  as  he  coul^  and 
not  ir  any  way  to  defend  himself.  He  gained  finally  the  en 
trance  of  the  avenue  —  looked  up  and  down  the  highway  to  see 
that  he  was  not  pursued,  then  took  the  downward  route,  still  in 
the  thicket,  but  still  close  beside  the  public  road,  not  yet  ven 
turing  to  penetrate  the  deeper  thickets  where  he  felt  sure  that 
his  comrades  harbored. 

Thus  moving,  he  ha1  made  a  progress  which  was  considerable 


-SCOURWCJ    THE    WOODS.  203 

for  one  in  his  state  of  suffering,  when  lie  heard  or  fancied  that 
he  heard  a  distant  shot.  He  stooped  his  ear  to  the  ground  and 
listened.  Again  lie  heard  a  shot  —  two,  three,  or  more.  But 
they  seemed  to  be  still  below  him,  though  greatly  to  the  left, 
and  he  thought  it  not  improbable  that  Sinclair  and  the  two  armed 
negroes  had  boldly  penetrated  the  forests  in  pursuit  of  his  com 
rades.  To  get  certainly  in  the  rear  of  both  parties,  it  was  required 
that  he  should  still  press  directly  downward,  and  not  venture 
in  more  deeply  until  the  sounds  of  alarm  should  certainly  arise 
between  himself  and  the  Barony.  With  this  policy,  and  stimu 
lated  by  the  intimations  of  strife  to  an  eager  desire  to  be  at 
work  in  the  fray  himself,  he  flourished  his  carving-knife,  set  his 
teeth  firmly,  and  hurried  on  as  rapidly  as  his  sufferings  would 
admit.  He  had  gone  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further,  or 
more,  when  his  ear  caught  other  sounds  which  compelled  a 
halt  and  counselled  concealment. 

"A  troop  of  horse !"  he  muttered,  with  an  oath.  "Who  can 
it  be?" 

He  was  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

"  Marion's  men's  t'other  side  of  the  river.  Inglehardt  is  up 
the  country.  Harden,  they  say,  has  gone  south.  Who,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  black  devils,  can  it  be  1  It  may  be  some  of  the 
'Yahoos.'" 

The  Yahoos  were  another  tory  banditti ;  their  name,  with  a 
strange  taste,  self-chosen ;  and  not  inappropriate,  unless  too  in 
nocently  unmeaning. 

But  the  doubt  of  Dick  of  Tophet  did  not  interfere  to  retard 
his  own  action.  He  hurried  into  a  close  thicket,  sufficiently  far 
from  the  road  to  escape  any  glancing  eye,  yet  near  enough  him 
self  to  distinguish  the  approaching  troopers.  They  came  on  at 
a  trot,  and  went  by  handsomely,  a  neat  and  trim  array  of  forty- 
five  dragoons. 

"  Marion's  men,  by  the  powers !  St.  Julien's  squad.  Now, 
ef  I  kaint  draw  off  them  fellows  in  season,  won't  they  catch  it!" 

Thus  muttered  the  outlaw,  as  he  gathered  himself  up,  with 
many  growls  and  groans,  and  once  more  resumed  his  upright 
position.  He  now  struck  diagonally  across  the  wood,  pushing 
directly  for  the  heart  of  the  thicket  where  he  supposed  his  com 
rades  to  be,  and  whence  the  sound  of  the  firearms  had  arisen 


204  THE   FORAYERS. 

But  hardly  had  he  gone  fifty  yards,  when  he  encountered  a 
horseman  directly  in  his  track.  He  threw  himself  behind  a 
tree  as  the  new-comer  approached,  and  when  the  latter,  who 
seemed  to  be  in  a  brown  study,  drew  nigh,  the  outlaw  stretched 
out  his  arm  suddenly  and  grasped  the  bridle  of  the  steed. 

"  Hello  !  thar  !  Lord !  who's  that  ?  Oh !  Fire  Dick,  is  that 
you?" 

The  horseman  was  no  less  a  person  than  our  old  acquaint 
ance,  worthy  Pete  Blodgit.  He  had  promptly  adopted  the 
counsels  of  Willie  Sinclair,  at  their  last  interview,  and  had 
seized  the  first  chance  to  withdraw  from  his  connection  with 
the  outlaws,  which  he  did,  without  beat  of  drum,  at  the  moment 
when  the  band  was  preparing  for  the  first  assault  upon  the 
house.  They  had  not  noticed  his  departure  ;  had  they  done  so, 
it  is  probable  that  they  would  have  prevented  it ;  for,  though 
they  made  no  sort  of  calculations  upon  him,  in  respect  to  the 
fight,  they  knew  how  to  use  him  in  affairs  which  involved  no 
necessity  for  heroism.  Pete  knew  perfectly  well,  that,  in  mere 
wilfulness  of  power,  they  would  have  detained  him,  if  once  they 
suspected  him  of  any  intention  to  depart.  He  modestly  kept 
his  purpose  secret,  and  stole  off  while  they  were  pressing  for 
ward  to  their  severally-assigned  posts  for  the  assault.  He  was 
taken  all  aback  —  confounded,  by  the  way — by  an  encounter 
so  totally  unexpected  with  the  outlaw,  whom,  all  the  while,  he 
supposed  to  be  safely  boxed  up  in  the  basement  or  the  attic 
of  Sinclair's  house.  The  ordinary  terrors  which  this  man's 
presence  inspired  in  his  mind,  were  duly  increased  by  the  sud 
den  and  unanticipated  meeting  with  him,  but  still  more  by  his 
fierce,  wild,  and  ghastly  aspect.  His  face  seemed  blotched  ami 
bloated,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  there  was  a  wolfish  fierce 
ness  in  his  expression  that  denoted  a  great  increase  of  his  usu;;' 
savage  ferocity  of  will. 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  !  how  you  skear'd  me." 

The  other  grinned  horribly  as  he  said : — 

"  Git  down,  Pete." 

"  Git  down,  leftenant !  What  must  I  get  down  for — what's 
you  guine  to  do  to  me  ?" 

"  frit  down  I  T  ain't  a  guine  to  hurt  you  I  only  wants  the 
horse." 


SCOURING   THE  WOODS.  205 

"  But  it's  my  horse,  Dick." 

"  Never  mind  !  I  wants  him." 

"But  you  ain't  a  guine  to  take  my  critter?" 

"  Yes  !     1  must  hev'  him,  Pete.     Git  down." 

"  But,  Dick,  how  kin  I,  when  you  knows  I'm  a  lame  man, 
and  kain't  git  on,  no  how,  without  a  critter.  I  kain't  do  eny 
much  travelling  a-foot." 

"And  who  the  h — I's  more  lame  than  me  ?"  was  the  fierce 
answer  of  the  other.  "  Don't  you  see  I'm  burnt  and  scalded  and 
blistered  up  from  head  to  foot,  and  all  a-fighting  your  battles  ?" 

"  Not  any  battles  of  mine,  Dick,"  replied  the  other.  "  'Twas 
your  own  battles  all  the  time,  and  I  wasn't  to  have  eny  of  the 
good  of  it,  I  know/' 

"  Well,  it  don't  much  matter  eny  how.  Thar's  not  much 
good  of  it  come  to  enybody,  and  ef  I  don't  overhaul  our  fellows 
and  bring-  'em  off  at  once,  they  won't  make  the  smallest  sort  of 
mouthful  for  St.  Julien's  dragoons.  So  git  down,  Pete,  and 
give  me  your  horse." 

"  Well,  but  leftenant — " 

"  Git  down,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  how  kin  \  give  up  my  horse  1  I'm  sure,  leftenant,  ef 
vou  takes  him  I'll  never  see  him  again.  Let  me  go  home  quiet, 
Dick." 

•"  Look  you,  Blodgit,  I  kain't  be  a  trifling  with  you  one  min 
ute  of  waste  of  time.  Why,  to  be  sure,  ef  I  takes  him,  you  stand 
a  mighty  fair  chance  of  never  seeing  him  agin.  But  what  of 
that.  Do  you  think  I  cares  what  your  loss  may  be,  when  the 
needcessity  is  to  save  them  good  fellows  that's  in  danger  now 
from  St.  Julien's  troopers !  Git  down,  I  say." 

"  I  kain't  give  up  my  critter,  Dick  —  I  kain't !"  was  the  reply 
of  Blodgit,  with  an  unusual  show  of  determination,  for  him,  and 
he  jerked  the  bridle  of  his  beast  as  he  spoke,  and  struck  his  heels 
into  his  flanks,  and  would  have  been  off  without  further  parley 
but  for  the  firm  grasp  which  the  outlaw  had  laid  upon  the  bridle 

"  You  white  livered  lizard  !"  roared  the  outlaw  ;  "  and  while 
I'm  a  wasting  time  with  your  provications  and  prevarications, 
them  good  fellows  is  a  gitting  themselves  chopped  up  by  the 
dragoons !" 

The  words  were  seconded  by  the  most  decided  action.     The 


206  THE    PORAYERS. 

beast  \vas  reined  ba£k  upon  his  haunches  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  and  Pete  Blodgit,  pulled  from  his  back  with  a  gripe  of 
iron,  fell  prone  upon  the  earth,  heavily  as  a  bag  of  sand.  Foi 
a  moment  the  carving-knife  of  Devil  Dick  was  flourished  over 
his  head. 

"  Marcy,  Dick  !  hev'  marcy  ! 

"  You  mean-sperritted  skunk,  I've  hafe  a  mind  to  sculp  yon 
where  you  lies  :  but  I  ain't  got  time  for  it.  But  jist  you  wait 
for  it,  tell  I  gits  back,  and  ef  I  don't  take  off  fcoulp  and  ears,  it's 
bekaise  I've  got  religion  as  I  goes.  Give  me  your  blasted 
horn  !  Quick  at>  lightning." 

The  horn  was  delivered  to  the  outlaw ;  he  wound  it  thrice,  a 
lively  strain  of  alarm,  then  mounted  the  beast  —  an  effort  that 
made  him  groan  pitifully,  as  it  seemed  to  renew  all  the  agonies 
of  the  blazing  fire  at  his  back  and  ankles  —  but  he  was  capable 
of  the  effort,  though  he  groaned  under  it; was  soon  in  the  saddle, 
and  away  —  back  at  full  speed  over  the  ground  which  Blodgit 
had  just  before  slowly  overcome.  At  intervals,  he  wound  his 
horn  as  he  rode  j.  a  signal  meant  to  awaken  the  apprehensions 
of  his  associates,  and  draw  them  back  in  season  for  escape  from 
the  troopers  of  St.  Julien.  We  need  not  say  that,  nowise  en 
couraged  by  the  promises  held  out  to  him,  Blodgit  resolved  not 
to  wait  one  moment  for  the  outlaw's  return  ;  but,  in  some  degree 
forgetting  his  own  lameness,  he  gathered  himself  up  as  soon  as 
the  other  had  ridden  off,  and  took  his  way  down  the  wood  with  a 
degree  of  rapidity  which  would  have  been  highly  creditable  to 
an  ordinary  man  in  the  full  possession  of  all  his  limbs  and  sinews. 

Let  us  return  to  the  Barony.  We  have  seen  that  Sinclair 
received  his  friend  St.  Julien  at  the  entrance  of  the  mansion ; 
but  he  did  not  then  suffer  him  to  alight. 

"  Don't  dismount,  St.  Julien.  There's  work  for  us  yet. 
Keep  your  saddle  and  put  your  men  on  the  alert.  Ho  !  there ; 
my  horse  !  We  have  beei  beleaguered.  Didn't  you  hear  the 
firing?" 

"No!  The  wind  was  from  us.  How  beleaguered?  By 
whom?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  as  we  ride.  Meanwhile,  send  down  some 
*went}  men  through  the  avenue,  to  make  a  circuit  of  a  milo 
below,  and  dasli  in  upon  yonder  wood.  The  outlaws,  some 


SCOURING    THE    WOODS.  207 

half  a  dozen  or  more  ivcre  there  half  an  hour  ago.  They 
are  well  mounted,  but  we  may  overhaul  them.  We  will  take 
a  short  cut  over  the  fences,  and  strike  at  them  directly  in  front. 
My  horse  !  my  horse,  there  !" 

• "  Our  beasts  are  pretty  well  knocked  up,  Willie,"  was  the 
answer. 

"Oh!  they  will  do — they  will  do!  But  whether  knocked 
up  or  not,  we  must  brush  that  wood  before  dark.  We  have 
had  Hell-fire  Dick  and  his  gang  upon  us." 

1  Ha  !  I  thought  that  scoundrel  was  in  Inglehardt's  troop,  and 
up  the  country." 

"  No  !  no  !  and  Inglehardt's  troop  is  not  up  the  country,  I 
fancy  —  at  least,  I  have  pretty  good  intelligence  that  he  him 
self  is  somewhere  about  Orangeburg.  Have  you  had  any  ad 
venture  to-day  ?" 

"  Slashed  to  pieces  a  body  of  tne  Yahoos,  some  fourteen  in 
number,  near  the  mill,  on  the  Four-Holes,  only  a  few  miles 
below  'Bram's  Castle." 

"  Ha  !  but  they  had  not  found  him  out  ?" 
"  Not  that  we  know  ;  but  they  were  coining  out  of  the  swamp 
when  we  surprised  them." 
"And  where's  'Brain?'' 

"  He  will  be  here  to-night  with  your  luggage,  under   the 
charge  of  Corporal  Grayson,  with  half  a-dozen  troopers." 
"  You  got  all  the  papers." 
"All!" 

There  was  some  other  conversation,  until  the  horse  of  Sin 
clair  was  brought  out,  all  properly  caparisoned  by  Benny  Bow- 
legs.  That  faithful  fellow  also  appeared,  soon  after  his  master 
was  mounted,  astride  the  steed  which  had  been  taken  from 
"  Devil  Dick."  St.  Julien  looked  at  the  negro  doubtfully,  but 
Sinclair  said,  "Let  him  ride  with  us.  He  knows  the  wood,  and 
may  be  useful."  The  little  squad,  meanwhile,  had  been  de 
tached,  according  to  Sinclair's  orders,  and  had  already  passed 
through  the  avenue,  into  the  main  road,  for  the  purpose  of  making 
a  circuit  and  taking  the  outlaws  in  the  rear.  In  a  few  moments 
more,  the  troop  of  St.  Julien,  under  the  two  chiefs,  were  break 
ing  through  the  fence  behind  the  garden,  and  dashing 
into  the  woods  in  which  the  outlaws  harbored. 


208  THE   FORAYERS. 

TLe  time  allowed  Dick  of  Topliet  in  warning  his  comrades 
of  their  danger  would  not  have  been  adequate  to  the  purpose, 
if  they  had  not  themselves  taken  the  alarm,  long  before  the  ar 
rival  of  St.  Julien.  He  met  them  on  the  retreat,  and  a  few  mo 
ments  sufficed  for  explanation." 

"  We  draw'd  off,"  said  Sam  Brydone,  who,  in  the  absence  of 
Dick,  had  taken  the  command,  "  bekaise  we  seed  there  was  no 
sort  of  use  trying  to  do  anything  before  night." 

"And  where's  all  your  men.  You  got  Zeke  Rodgers,  didn't 
you.  I  heerd  his  dogs." 

"  Yes,  we  got  him,  to  his  misfortin'.  Thar's  his  dogs  ;  but 
he  aiut  fit  for  nothing  better  than  dog's  meat  now.  He  got  a 
hurt  iii  the  first  rush  we  made  to  git  behind  the  kitchen,  and  he 
aint  ?o  much  as  hollered  since.  Bill  Toland,  too,  he  came  up 
with  Zeke,  and  he's  got  more  lead  in  his  swallow  than  he  could 
quite  force  down.  Here's  Jack,  too,  got  scraped  by  a  handful 
of  buckshot,  I'm  a-thinking,  but  tain't  much.  It's  jest  barked 
him  about  the  shoulders." 

"  And  whar's  Joe  Best  V 

"He's  coming  on  behind  —  slow  enough.  He's  got  to  walk 
his  critter  all  the  way,  since  he's  pretty  much  doubled  up  with 
a  load  somewhere  about  his  hips,  and  has  to  lie  down  pretty 
much  on  his  horse.  Ef  he  tries  to  trot  or  canter  he  falls  into  a 
faint." 

"  Then  they  '11  take  him,  by  thunder,  and  that's  next  to 
roping  him,  I'm  thinking." 

"  'Twon't  take  much  to  finish  him." 

"  Well,  you  kain't  stop  for  him  or  anybody,"  cried  Dick 
of  Tophet.  "  Ef  I  know  Willie  Sinclair,  he'll  hev'  that  troop 
of  St.  Julien's  scattered  about  these  woods  before  you  kin  say 
Jack  Robinson  !  We  must  put  out  as  fast  as  any  four  legs  can 
go  it.  We've  got  the  heels  of  them,  and  can  keep  ahead  of  St. 
Julien,  ef  we  choose,  for  though  he  did  put  his  troop  into  a  trot, 
when  he  got  in  sight  of  the  Barony — jist,  I  suppose  to  show  off 
—  yet  I  could  see  there  was  no  heart  in  the  legs  of  any  of  his 
beasts  to  make  'em  willing.  We  must  ride  now,  ef  we  would 
be  able  to  have  a  feeling  for  a  hot  supper  anywhere  to-night." 

"  But  I  promised  to  go  slow  for  poor  Joe  Best." 

"  We  kain't  afford  it,  though  he  was  a  better  man  than  Best,*" 


SCOURING   THE   WOODS.  209 

growled  the  savage  Dick,  with  a  sort  of  humor  that  spontane 
ously  presents  itself  where  a  person's  name  is  naturally  so  sug 
gestive.  "  Joe  must  take  his  chance,  and  we  must  use  ours.  I 
tell  you  we've  got  nothing  to  spare.  We  must  go  at  a  gallop, 
ef  we  would  make  the  river  fur  enough  below,  before  night 
comes.  The  night  and  the  river  swamp  is  our  hope  just  now. 
Joe  must  take  his  chainces.  It's  a  part  of  the  contract  in  a 
scrimmage." 

Scoundrels  are  always  selfish  of  necessity  —  since  it  is  in  sel 
fishness  that  scoundrelism  always  has  its  birth ;  and  the  reluc 
tance  of  the  party  to  leave  their  wounded  comrade  was  quickly 
overcome. 

"  But  whar's  Nelson  ?"  demanded  Brydone,  looking  round 
the  party.  No  one  could  answer. 

"He's  missing!" 

"  That's  a  sufficient  report  just  now.  Ef  he  kaint  find  him 
self,  he  kaint  blame  us  for  not  finding  him.  Spur  up,  boys  — 
no  stop  for  thinking." 

"  Are  you  wounded  yourself,  Dick  ?  You  rides  as  ef  you 
was  hurt." 

"  Ax  my  back  ?  Look  at  it,  and  then  drive  the  spur  harder 
than  ever,  sence  that  ought  to  warn  you  what  may  happen  to 
you  all,  ef  you're  taken." 

"  H-ll !  you  don't  say  they  roasted  you  ?"  cried  Brydono,  as 
he  saw  the  condition  of  the  other's  back  at  a  glance. 

"  On  rid-hot  coals,  bars  of  red  iron,  and  a  blazing  fire  at 
hands  and  feet  !  Won't  I  hev'  my  revenge  for  it  all !  Spur 
up,  fellows.  I  mustn't  be  cotched  jest  yit.  I've  got  to  live 
long  enough  to  roast  every  critter  in  that  Sinclair  Bairony-— 
the  cursed  infernal  harrystocrats  !" 

Let  us  leave  them  as  they  fly  down  the  country  at  full  speed, 
and  obliquing  in  the  direction  of  the  Santee  swamp.  The  pur 
suit  was  hotly  commenced  by  Sinclair  and  St.  Julien.  They 
divided  the  squadron,  and  scattered  themselves  over  the  wood. 
Fast  they  rode,  and  far  they  rode  —  that  is  to  say,  as  fast  and  as 
far  .-is  was  consistent  with  a  close  search,  and  the  jaded  condi 
tion  of  their  horses.  The  squad  of  St.  Julien,  after  awhile,  fell 
in  with  the  wounded  outlaw,  Joe  Best.  As  he  heard  their  ap 
proach,  he  put  the  spurs  to  his  horse  in  the  hope  to  make  off, 


210  THE    FORAYEItS. 

but  the  first  plunge  forward  of  the  steed  subjected  him  to  so 
much  agony,  that  lie  drew  up  and  checked  the  beast  as  sud 
denly.  The  ruffian  felt  liis  danger  —  he  knew  his  fate.  He 
was  well  known  to  all  the  men  of  Marion,  and  he  had  been  long 
since  outlawed.  He  drew  a  pistol  from  his  holsters,  and  pre 
pared  himself  for  the  coming  up  of  his  pursuers.  When  they 
drew  nigh,  he  fired,  and  the  sword-arm  of  a  common  trooper  fell 
powerless  at  his  side,  just  as  he  was  about  to  cut  the  ruffian 
down.-  But  he  could  not  escape.  Half  a-score  of  men  were 
within  call  of  the  wounded  man,  and  the  report  of  the  pistol 
brought  them  up,  with  St.  Julien  at  their  head.  At  this  moment, 
whether  becaiise  of  his  pains  or  his  policy,  Joe  Best  dropped 
from  his  horse.  The  animal  was  caught  in  a  moment  —  horses 
being  in  even  greater  demand  than  men,  among  the  southern 
partisans — and  Best  himself  was  secured  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  A  couple  of  dragoons  dismounted,  and  laid  hands  on  bin* 
He  lifted  the  emptied  pistol  with  a  feeble  arm,  and  his  o/es 
glared  savagely  upon  his  assailants.  It  was  evident  that  the 
loss  of  strength  implied  no  loss  of  sense  or  intelligence. 

"  Who  is  he  ?     Do  you  know  him  1"  asked  St.  Julien. 

"  An  old  scamp,"  was  the  reply  — "  no  other  than  Joe 
Best,  who  burnt  Mother  Baldrick's  house,  and  carried  off  Hoi- 
man's  horses." 

"  Cloud  !"  called  St.  Julien  —  and  as  the  trooper  so  called 
rode  up,  the  captain  said  :  —  "search  him,  Cloud,  and  bring  to 
me  what  he  may  have  about  him.  You  know  what  to  do  with 
him." 

And  thus  speaking,  St.  Julien  rode  away,  followed  by  all 
but  Cloud  and  another.  These  remained  with  the  wounded 
outlaw.  Cloud  had  dismounted.  He  now  uncoiled  a  dozen 
yards  of  the  rope  from  his  saddle,  and  approached  the  wounded 
man. 

"  What  are  you  guine  to  do  ?"  demanded  Best,  "  needn't  tie 
a  wounded  man  like  me.  I'm  your  prisoner." 

"  We  don't  want  prisoners,"  was  the  reply.  "  Search  him, 
Parler!" 

The  pockets  of  the  outlaw  were  soon  emptied,  but  they  re 
vealed  little. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?"  asked  Cloud. 


SCOURING   THE   WOODS  211 

"  To  say  !     What  shonld  I  say  ?"  replied  the  outlaw, looking 
dubiously. 

"  I  thought  you  might  have  some  confession  to  make ;  but  if 
you  haven't,  better  sny  your  prayers,  quickly." 

"My  prayers  !  Why,  do  you  mean  to  kill  me  without  any 
hial  ?"  The  prisoner's  voice  grew  husky. 

"You  have  been  tried  long  ago,  and  condemned.  Be  quick 
You're  to  die  now.  If  you  have  any  prayers  to  say,  the  sooner 
you  set  about  it  the  better." 

"  You're  in  airnest,  air  you  ?"  demanded  the  outlaw. 

"  Yes  !     Have  to  be  !     Say  your  prayers." 

"  I  kaint,  and  I  wont  !  Ef  I'm  to  hang,  why  I  kaint  help 
it.  Do  your  d — dest !" 

In  live  minutes  after,  the  miserable  wretch  was  convulsively 
shivering  from  a  swinging  limb  of  the  forest,  arid  Cloud  and  his 
companion  were  riding  briskly  off  to  join  their  comrades 


212  THE   FORAYERS. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

A  DASH  OF  SENTIMENT  AS  PREPARATIVE  FOR  SUPPER. 

THE  farther  pursuit  of  the  outlaws  was  unsuccessful.  Night 
had  fallen,  however,  ere  the  bugles  of  St.  Julien  recalled  tho 
pursuing  party.  The  search  had  sufficed,  at  all  events,  to 
expel  the'  robbers  from  the  immediate  neighborhood :  and  this 
was  all  that  could  be  done  under  the  circumstances.  Had  the 
troop  of  St.  Julien  not  been  utterly  fagged  out  by  a  long  day's 
hard  riding,  they  would  probably  have  destroyed  the  whole  of 
the  banditti.  They  were  all  well  mounted,  on  fleet  horses; 
and  in  this  particular  arm  of  the  service  the  Americans  had 
greatly  the  advantage  of  the  British.  There  was  no  finer  cav 
alry  in  the  world  than  that  of  the  partisans.  Their  prepon 
derating  strength,  in  this  respect,  was  the  secret  of  all  their 
successes. 

It  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  of  the  Barony,  that  the 
officers  held  their  rendezvous,  and  that  the  several  reports  of 
their  lieutenants  were  made.  Here  they  found  the  bodies  of 
two  of  the  outlaws  who  had  been  slain,  one  by  the  pistol  of 
.Benny  Bowlegs  behind  the  kitchen,  the  other  by  Willie  Sin 
clair's  buckshot,  from  the  dwelling.  The  two  victims  were 
Zeke  Rodgers  and  Bill  Toland.  They  were  both  quite  dead 
when  the  troopers  came  up,  and  were  hastily  buried  by  the 
negroes,  in  the  neighboring  woods.  The  robbers  had  thus  lost 
three  of  their  gang  slain  outright  —  no  small  assessment  upon 
their  small  capital  of  strength.  Besides  tke  scorchings,  self- 
bestowed,  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  Jack  Halliday  had  been  sorely 
wounded,  and  Ben  Nelson  was  still  missing.  Whether  wound 
ed  or  not,  he  had  escaped  the  search  of  the  dragoons. 

"  We  can  do  nothing  more  to-night,  Peyre,"  said  the  major, 
*  and  the  rest  of  these  rascals  will  be  beyond  pursuit  by  morn 


A    DASH   OF   SENTIMENT.  213 

ing.  At  all  events,  they  have  had  a  taste  of  trouble  which  will 
make  them  somewhat  more  cautious.  Let  us  now  go  to  the 
house,  and  see  after  some  supper  I  suppose  your  fellows  have 
an  appetite." 

"Are  all  well,  Sinclair?" 

"  All  but  my  father ;  and  his  gout  leaves  him  never  wholly 
well.  The  excitement  of  this  affair  has  rather  helped  him.  He 
actually  took  post  with  sword  and  pistol  at  one  of  the  entrances,, 
with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  young  soldier  on  his  first  campaign." 

"  I  take  for  granted,  Sinclair,  that  his  love  for  me  has  not 
undergone  any  great  increase." 

"No,  Peyre,'  answered  the  other,  with  a  laugh  — "he  still 
holds  both  of  us  as  rebels  to  his  sovereign.  This  one  objection 
waived,  and,  I  fancy,  there  is  no  other  more  serious  offence  in 
either  of  us.  And,  for  our  objects,  we  must  wait  events,  and 
bear  ourselves  patiently.  You  may  find  him  querulous  and 
cold,  Peyre,  but  for  my  sake,  do  not  notice  anything  of  the 
sort.  He  is  old,  remember,  a  bigoted  loyalist,  and — " 

"  Nay,  Sinclair,  it  needs  not !  I  am  quite  well  aware  of 
what  is  due  to  him,  by  way  of  allowance ;  and  for  her  sake,  if 
not  yours  and  my  own,  I  shall  be  even  submissive.  You  know 
I  am  very  meek  of  temper." 

"Of  manner,  at  all  events,  Peyre,  and  that  is  all  that  is 
needed  in  this  case.  But  give  your  orders.  Let  your  men 
bivouac  along  the  avenue,  or,  if  you  please,  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood." 

We  need  not  note  the  disposition  of  the  troop,  but  will  accom 
pany  the  two  officers  to  the  dwelling.  Here  they  found  every 
room  alight.  The  parlor  was  ready  for  the  reception  of  com 
pany,  and  the  servants  were  busy  in  spreading  a  doubly  table 
in  the  supper-room.  Colonel  Sinclair  had  had  himself  wheeled 
into  the  parlor,  and  sat  in  state  fronting  the  entrance,  with  his 
favorite  leg  resting  upon  a  cushioned  stool.  Lottie  was  playing 
in  the  piazza,  and  eagerly  looking  out  for  the  approach  of  the 
dragoons,  their  returning  bugles  having  been  heard  some  time 
before.  Carrie,  meanwhile,  was  in  her  chamber,  making  cer 
tain  preparations  which  showed  her  nut  more  unmindful  than 
any  other  of  her  sex,  in  respect  to  the  appearance  which  she 
should  make  before  her  guests,  one  of  whom,  we  are  to  remerc 


'214  .THE   FORAYER3. 

ber,  was  her  lover.  Though  one  of  the  least  affected,  least 
coquettish,  least  vain,  of  all  the  damsels  of  our  acquaintance  — 
and  at  no  time  very  solicitous  about  personal  display  —  yet,  on 
this  occasion,  Carry  was  somewhat  hard  to  please  in  the  adjust 
ment  of  her  toilet.  When  she  did  appear,  it  was  in  very  simple 
fashion,  it  is  true :  in  a  light  robe  of  blue,  suitable  for  midsum 
mer,  her  hair  arranged,  as  was  then  the  style,  in  tresses  termi 
nating  in  ringlets  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  single  white,  flower 
resting  upon  her  bosom.  She  was  very  lovely  in  this  simple 
habit,  which  suited  her  style  of  beauty  exactly  —  a  fair,  well- 
formed  Saxon  face,  with  soft  brown  hair,  a  complexion  of  bril 
liant  white  and  red,  large,  deep  blue  eyes,  and  an  eager  buoy 
ant  expression  of  countenance  showing  a  frank  nature,  and  a 
generous,  impulsive  soul. 

The  old  man  was  impatient  of  her  delay.  He  conjectured 
what  engaged  her  in  her  chamber  so  long,  and  was  divided  in 
his  humors  in  respect  to  her  supposed  employment.  No  one 
had  mor<»  ri-ide  in  his  daughter  than  Colonel  Sinclair  —  no  one 
could  more  have  desired  that  she  should  appear  to  advantage 
—  and  had  the  expected  guests  been  Lord  Rawdon  and  hi.s 
suite,  the  imperious  baron  would  have  insisted  upon  all  proper 
feminine  preparations.  But  he  was  not  so  well  pleased  to  think 
that  all  her  painstaking  was  to  be  wasted  on  the  eyes  of  a  rebel- 
captain  and  his  troop  —  that  captain  being,  as  he  phrased  it,  the 
son  of  one  of  "  those  frog-eating  Frenchmen  of  Craven  county !" 
Knowing  that  St.  Julien  had  a  penchant  for  his  daughter  —  for 
there  is  a  past  history  of  their  intimacy  which  we  must  leave 
our  readers  to  gather  from  the  context- — and  half-fearing  and 
suspecting  that  Carrie  rather  favored  than  discouraged  the  ad 
dresses  of  the  young  man,  and  that  Willie  Sinclair  had  been  his 
fast  friend  always,  any  preparation  of  his  daughter,  for  the  re 
ception  of  the  unwelcome  guest,  would  have  been  thought  too 
great  an  expenditure  of  consideration  upon  him.  Not  that  old 
Sinclair  knew  anything  unfavorable  of  Peyre  St.  Julien.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  a  man 
of  honor,  as  he  was  known  to  be  a  gentleman.  But  he  was  a 
rebel;  and  that  was  a  sufficient  reason  at  a  moment,  certainly, 
when  rebellion  was  supposed  not  to  be  a  thriving  entei prise, 
and  the  old  man  entertained,  besides,  a  hearty  old  English 


A    DASH    OF   SENTIMENT.  215 

prejudice,  then  not  uncommon  in  this  country,  against  all  of 
Gallic  origin.  Willie  Sinclair  had  more  than  once  battled  this 
prejudice  in  behalf  of  his  friend  ;  but  irjt,  indeed,  with  any  ref 
erence  to  the  desires  of  the  latter  for  the  hand  of  his  sister. 
He  well  knew  that  the  time  was  not  yet  come  for  the  discussion 
of  this  object,  and  that  nothing  certainly  could  be  effected  in 
behalf  of  his  friend's  suit  while  the  event  of  the  war  was  doubt 
ful. 

"But,"  as  he  said  to  St.  Julien,  "  as  marriage  just  now  would 
be  totally  out  of  the  question,  there  is  no  need  that  we  should 
be  precipitate.  We  must  both  wait,  Peyre,  for  a  calmer  season. 
War  leaves  no  opportunity,  and  but  little  time  for  love  !" 

And,  to  this  suggestion,  Peyre  St.  Julien  assented.  He  was 
a  lover,  and  a  fond  one ;  but  he  was  one  of  those  me-n  whose 
resolves  are  only  strengthened  by  delay ;  whom  opposition 
only  arms  with  determination,  and  whenever  suffer  themselves 
to  lose  a  game,  by  the  precipitate  desire  for  its  profits.  Besides, 
he  had  his  securities,  and  in  these  lay  a  certain  amount  of  con 
solation.  Carrie  Sinclair's  eyes  had  answered  to  his  own  suffi 
ciently  ;  and  he  knew  enough  of  her  nature  to  know  that  she 
was  as  firm  and  tenacious  of  character,  as  she  was  frank  and 
generous  of  soul.  His  confidence  in  her  faith,  though  declared 
only  by  her  eyes,  left  him  in  no  apprehension  of  any  capricious 
change  in  her  sympathies. 

At  length,  the  troop  filing  into  the  avenue  made  their  appear 
ance. 

"Here  they  come,  papa!  Here  they  come!"  cried  Lottie. 
"  Look  what  handsome  horses !  See  how  they  ride !  And 
here  comes  Bubber  Willie  and  Captain  Peyre  !" 

And  the  little  girl  danced  and  clapped  her  hands,  and  ran  to 
and  fro,  between  parlor  and  piazza,  until  the  two  officers  were 
seen  ascending  the  steps.  Then  she  darted  out,  and  soon 
shared  in  the  caresses  of  both  alternately,  St.  Julien  bringing 
her  into  the  parlor  on  his  shoulder.  He  set  her  down  gently 
with  a  kiss,  approached  the  colonel,  and,  bowing  respectfully, 
he  offered  him  his  hand  in  silence. 

The  other  took  it  civilly,  not  cordially,  as  he  said : — 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir;  glad  to  see  you.  You  came  seasona 
bly  to  our  relief;  many  thanks,  sir,  many  thanks;  though,  I 


216  THE   FORAYERS. 

fancy,  these  rascals  of  banditti  had  already  received  a  sufficient 
dressing  at  our  hands  to  make  them  sheer  off.  In  fact  they 
were  gone  —  in  full  letr eat,  sir — before  you  made  your  appear 
ance." 

"  They  had  certainly  no  motive  to  remain,  sir,"  was  the  quiet 
and  gentlemanly  reply  of  St.  Julien. 

"  Ay,"  cried  Willie  Sinclair,  "  they  got  more  than  they  came 
for ;  two  men  slain  outright,  and  others  no  doubt  wounded,  they 
paid  heavily  for  their  enterprise.  But  their  very  losses  were 
calculated  to  stimulate  their  ferocity.  What  I  dreaded  was  the 
approach  of  night,  when  they  could  have  made  a  rush  upon  us 
from  all  the  points  of  the  compass  at  the  same  moment,  and 
when  our  fire  could  have  had  but  little  effect  in  preventing  their 
approach." 

"  But  what  had  we  to  fear  from  a  hand-to-hand  contest,  with 
fifty  negroes  in  the  house  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  do  not  doubt,  sir,  that  we  should  have  beaten  the 
rascals  off — butchered  them  all,  perhaps — 'nay,  I'm  pretty  sure 
we  should  have  done  so  —  but  I  confess  that  the  mere  victory 
over  such  rapscallions,  at  the  expense  of  any  precious  lives  — 
nay,  at  the  cost  of  one  poor  negro  in  the  conflict  —  held  forth 
but  little  temptation  in  rny  eyes.  I  rejoice  that  the  coming  of 
St.  Julien  has  given  us  security  against  this  danger." 

"  So  it  has!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Sinclair — his  sense  of  justice 
prevailing  —  "so  it  has,  Mr.  St.  Julien"  —  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  accord  the  military  title  to  a  rebel  captain  —  "and  I 
thank  you,  sir,  for  your  presence.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here,  sir." 

This  was  said  rather  stiffly ;  but  it  was  honestly  said.  Our 
baron  was  a  man  of  prejudices,  but,  give  him  breathing-time, 
and  his  conscientiousness  always  prevailed  over  his  prejudices. 

At  this  moment  Carrie  Sinclair  appeared.  The  guest  rose  to 
meet  her.  Their  hands  met.  In  those  days,  the  lady  of  the 
house  always  gave  her  hand  to  the  visiter  when  he  was  of  the 
same  rank.  In  all  other  cases  she  simply  bowed,  and  in  such  a 
way  as  to  discourage  any  closer  approach.  The  case  is  some 
what  altered  now,  and  the  discrimination  between  the  two 
ilasses,  though  still,  in  most  respects,  observed  in  the  cities,  is 
apt  to  be  overlooked  in  the  country.  We  are  sorry  for  it.  The 
distinction  is  a  proper  one,  where  ladies  are  concerned.  The 


A    DASH    OF   SENTIMENT.  217 

failure  to  observe  it,  is  apt  to  encourage  the  inferior  to  aspira 
tions  which  end  only  in  his  mortification. 

Colonel  Sinclair's  eye  watched  the  meeting  of  the  parties 
with  some  interest.  But  he  saw  nothing  to  offend  him.  The 
manner  of  St.  Julien  was  calm  and  respectful — nay,  seemingly 
cold.  That  of  Carrie  was  easy,  self-possessed,  and  quiet,  and 
she  seated  herself  near  her  brother.  One  word  in  respect  to 
the  personal  appearance  of  St.  Julien.  He  was  of  middle  size 
for  our  country  —  some  live  feet  eight  inches  high,  well  made, 
but  slender,  of  good  muscle,  of  lithe  frame,  and  vigorous  muscle. 
His  face  was  pale,  his  eye  black,  large,  and  vigilant,  his  hair 
of  the  same  color,  worn  long,  probably  as  much  because  of  the 
want  of  a  barber,  as  his  own  taste.  It  hung  down  upon  his 
back,  and  was  soft  and  fine ;  his  nose  was  aquiline,  his  mouth 
well  formed,  and  showing  very  white  teeth.  His  brow  was 
lofty  and  full,  the  eyebrows  black  and  thick.  His  air  was  that 
of  a  well-bred  gentleman,  very  quiet,  simple,  and  unobtrusive. 
In  a  word,  he  was  one  of  those  happy  temperaments  whom  you 
never  take  by  surprise.  Yet  he  was  a  man  of  warm  feelings,  and 
even  violent  passions. 

"  You  have  ridden  far  to-day,  Mr.  St.  Julien." 

"  Some  forty-four  miles,  sir ;  but  our  troop  would  not  have  so 
much  felt  the  ride,  had  it  not  been  for  a  little  brush  with  a 
body  of  Yahoos,  near  the  Four-Holes." 

"  I  hope  you  demolished  those  wretches  utterly." 

"  We  did  something  toward  it,  sir." 

There  was  a  pause.     At  length  the  veteran  resumed  : — 

"  I  do  not  know  what  the  peaceable  inhabitants  of  the  coun 
try  are  to  do,  with  these  squads  of  banditti  roaming  about  the 
forests.  Nobody  is  secure.  Their  object  is  plunder  only. 
This  wretched  rebellion  has  deprived  us  of  all  our  securities." 

This  was  an  ungenerous  speech,  considering  who  were  his 
guests.  It  was,  however,  by  no  means  a  deliberate  offence,  on 
the  part  of  our  loyalist  baron.  It  was  simply  his  ordinary 
reflection.  A  slight  smile  on  the  lips  of  St.  Julien,  found  its 
interpretation  from  the  tongue  of  Willie  Sinclair,  who  said 
quickly  : — 

"  It  so  happens,  father,  that  all  these  rascals,  Scophilites,  Ya 
hoos,  foragers,  tories,  by  whatever  name  they  may  be  called, 

0 


218  TUB   FORAYERS. 

are  all  in  the  king's  commission.     They  all  claim,  with  yourself 
to  fee  busy  in  the  work  of  putting  down  rebellion." 

"  Well,  sir,  does  it  make  anything  against  the  authority  thai 
the  agent  should  abuse  the  trust  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  when  the  authority  knows  perfectly  the  sort  of 
agent  which  it  chooses.  The  Scophilites  and  Yahoos,  sir,  were 
notorious  long  before  the  beginning  of  this  war." 

"  Well,  sir,  even  allowing  this  to  be  quite  true,  yet,  in  a  re 
bellion  such  as  this,  which  finds  a  whole  people  ungrateful,  I 
hold  that  the  king  has  a  perfect  right  to  subsidize  any  agent." 

"  If  I  concede  what  you  claim,  my  dear  father  —  which  I  do 
not  —  it  necessarily  follows  that  nobody  has  a  right  to  complain 
that  the  rascal,  endowed  with  a  trust,  continues  to  be  a  rascal, 
in  spite  of  the  king's  commission.  You,  in  particular,  who  pro 
fess  to  believe  that  George  of  England  can  do  no  wrong,  must 
quiet  all  those  murmurs  which  resent  the  civilities  of  George's 
agents." 

"  Sir,  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  speak  in  more  re 
spectful  language  of  our  king." 

"No  king  of  mine,  sir; — but  I  am  willing  to  defer  to  your 
wishes.  I  wish  to  speak  of  him  as  little  as  possible,  and  would 
you  suffer  it,  sir,  should  gladly  forbear  this  class  of  subjects.  I 
find  it  more  pleasant  to  think  of  the  good  cheer  I  had  to-day. 
What  had  you  for  dinner  to-day,  St  Julien  ?" 
"  Hope  of  supper  to-night,  major." 

"  What !  no  dinner,  Mr.  St.  Julien  ?"  cried  the  old  man. 
"  Carrie,  do  see  that  supper  is  not  a  moment  delayed.  Sir,  you 
shall  have  supper,  with  as  hearty  a  welcome  as  if  you  were  not 
a  rebel." 

"  My  stomach  is  a  loyal  one,  at  least,  colonel,"  was  the  quiet 
reply  of  St.  Julien.  Carrie  Sinclair  had  disappeared. 

Not  to  talk  of- the  war  was  scarcely  possible.  There  was  no 
other  topic.  The  necessity  of  running  into  it  was  unavoidable, 
and,  with  the  best  intention  of  forbearance  in  the  world,  our 
baron  soon  after  found  himself  talking  of  Lord  Rawdon  and 
Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald. 

"  Have  you  met  with  Lord  Edward,  Mr.  St.  Julien  ?"  he  asked 
•jf  his  guest. 

"  I  have  not  had  that  honor,  colonel  ?"• 


A    DASH    OF   SENTIMENT.  219 

"  You  will  be  delighted  with  him.  He  is  a  fine  looking  fellow 
,'iarkly  handsome,  with  fine  eyes,  and  a  peculiar  mouth.  He  is 
as  noble,  as  handsome,  sir ;  a  very  noble  fellow ;  all  ardor  and 
impulse,  and  capable  of  the  very  highest  heroism.  I  should  be 
sorry  that  you  should  meet  as  enemies,  Mr.  St.  Julien — " 

"  And  why,  sir  ?"  demanded  Willie  Sinclair,  with  some  little 
pique.  "  I, for  one,  as  the  friend  of  Peyre  St.  Julien  would 
have  no  dread  of  the  result  in  an  encounter." 

This  speecli  taught  the  veteran  the  doubtful  character  of  his 
own  remark. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  St.  Julien,  I  did  not  mean  that ;  I  have  no  doubt 
you  would  do  your  duty,  sir  ;  and  I  am  far  from  venturing  an 
opinion  as  to  the  result  of  a  conflict  between  you." 

"  I  take  that  for  granted,  Col.  Sinclair." 

"  Sir,  you  only  do  me  justice.  But  I  will  say  no  more.  It 
seems  impossible  to  escape  a  blunder,  the  moment  we  happen  to 
speak  of  any  of  the  parties  in  this  accursed  war.  Sir,  will  you 
not  agree  with  me  to  damn  this  war  ?  I  say,  sir  —  damn  this 
war !  This  most  abominable,  unnatural  war,  which  will  not 
suffer  a  gentleman  to  declare  his  honest  natural  sentiments 
Sir — Mr.  Julien,  be  pleased  to  say  damn  this  war." 

"With  great  pleasure,  Col.  Sinclair — damn  this  war!" 

"  And  I  echo  the  sentiment,"  cried  Willie, — "  D  —  n  this  war  ! 
—  let  me  add,  sir,  an  amendment — "  to  his  father,  —  "  andd  —  n 
the  inventors  of  it !" 

"  And  who  do  you  call  the  inventors  of  it,  sir  ?"  demanded 
the  old  man  sharply. 

"  Ah  !  sir "?  into  that  question  we  need  not  inquire.  You  will 
have  one  notion,  I  another.  It  matters  not,  sir,  who  is  right, 
— the  war  being  unnatural  and  abominable,  I  ask  of  you  to 
say  —  d  —  n  the  inventors  of  it !" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  do,  believing  them  to  be  your  infernal  Congress 
and " 

"  No  more,  sir,  you  have  already  said  a  syllable  or  two  too 
much.  You  old  gentlemen  presume  a  little  upon  your  years  to 
be  a-talking,  sir;  you  know  not  when  to  stop.  I  will  not  imitate 
you,  since  my  purpose  is  not  to  provoke  an  interminable  dis 
pute.  The  moment  that  gentlemen  learn  the  fact  that  opinions 
among  the  party  are  diametrically  opposite  on  one  subject,  they 


220  THE    FORAYERS. 

have  but  one  rule,  and  that  is  to  refrain,  unless  their  object  is  t: 
provoke  a  quarrel.  Now  sir,  your  object  is  not  to  provoke  *>. 
quarrel,  since  I  am  your  son,  and  can  not  fight  you,  and  Capt.  St 
Julien  being  your  guest,  y  DU  can  not  fight  him.  We  must  accord 
ingly  steer  clear  of  politics,  and,  by  the  way,  sir,  talking  of  Sir 
Edward  Fitzgerald,  did  he  tell  you,  sir,  that  he  is  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  Miss  Sandford,  a  lady  of  great  beauty  and  wit,  with 
whom  he  so  flirted,  just  before  coming  to  America,  at  the  castle  of 
Lord  Shannon,  that,  the  story  goes  in  Charleston,  she  is  about 
to  follow  him  to  this  country  !" 

The  colonel  raised  his  eyebrows  in  consternation. 

"  Engaged  !  Impossible  !  How  should  you  know  what  is 
the  talk  in  Charleston." 

"  I  ought  to.  know.  I  have  been  in  that  goodly  city  within 
the  last  few  days  !" 

"  Ha  !  there  is  treachery  at  work  then  !  Say,  sir,  by  whom 
were  you  sheltered  there,  and  what  was  your  object?" 

"  My  object  is  briefly  told.  I  wished  to  select  house  and 
grounds  for  my  summer  residence,  after  the  evacuation,  and 
they  can  be  procured  at  small  cost  when  that  event  occurs.  I 
wished  to  put  my  agent  on  the  alert,  so  that  I  may  not  lose  the 
season.  As  to  the  person  who  sheltered  me,  1  have  only  to 
say  it  was  a  fair  lady  ;  gallantry  can  concede  no  more,  and 
courtesy  will  not  ask  so  much.  In  regard  to  the  treachery,  sir, 
do  you  not  see  that  any  talk  on  this  hand  will  bring  us  back  to 
the  forbidden  subject.  In  your  loyalty,  sir,  you  must  not  lose 
sight  of  what  is  due  to  the  gentleman." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  an  impertinent  son,  Mr.  St. Julien? 
But  he  is  right,  after  a  fashion  of  his  own.  I  am  too  old  a  subject 
of  the  king,  Mr.  St.  Julien,  not  to  forget,  in  my  zeal,  sometimes, 
what  is  due  to  the  company.  Pray  pardon  it.  In  respect  to 
Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald',  my  son,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
your  report.  I  fancy  it  is  a  fabrication  of  your  own,  and  that 
you  have  not  been  in  Charleston." 

"  Ay,  but  I  have,  sir." 

"  Why,  sir,  do  you  not  know  that  you  incur  the  peril  of  the 
gallows." 

"  I  am  not  alone,  sir;  the  thing  is  frequent." 

••  You  are  bold,  sir.     But  of  this  report  of  Lord  Edward." 


A    DASH    OP   SENTIMENT.  221 

"  It  is  the  report.  The  fact  is,  sir,  tliat  the  good  ladies  of 
Charleston  speak  of  Lord  Edward  as  something  of  a  flirt  —  a 
young  cavalier  of  very  flexible  affections — who  finds  a  new 
flame  wherever  he  goes." 

"  What  a  slander  '  The  young  man,  when  here,  seemed  ra 
ther  demure  than  otherwise.  I  confess  he  was  very  attentive 
to  Carrie,  but  without  any  seeming  purpose  of  display.  He 
was — " 

"  My  dear  father,  in  love,  and  fashion,  and  gallantry,  and  dis 
play,  everything  has  undergone  a  change  since  your  time. — " 

At  this  moment  Carrie  re-entered  the  room.  Her  appear 
ance  probably  suggested  to  the  major  of  dragoons  a  portion  of 
what  he  should  say. 

"  Then,"  he  continued,  "  if  you  happened  to  be  in  attendance 
upon  a  fair  damsel,  and  a  musical  instrument  of  any  sort  hap 
pened  to  be  at  hand,  you  were  expected  to  solicit  her  to  play ; 
it  was  one  part  of  the  code  of  courtesy  that  you  should  escort 
her  to  the  instrument,  her  finger-tips  in  yours,  you  bowing  half 
to  the  ground,  she  smiling  to  the  skies  all  the  way  as  you  went; 
and  when  you  seated  her  you  bowed  again  to  the  ground,  your 
disengaged  hand  upon  your  enthralled  heart,  and  she  still  smi 
ling  as  graciously  as  if  acknowledging  the  last  of  mortal  favors. 
Then,  as  she  played  and  sang,  you  stood  behind  or  beside  her 
chair,  and  fell,  or  rose  into  raptures  at  every  stave,  until  at  the 
close  you  cried — 'Oh!  what  divine  enchanting  ravishments  !" 
and,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  such  as  an  air-pump  might  utter 
as  it  sucks  away  the  last  breath  from  an  exhausted  receiver, 
you  again  took  the  lady's  tips  between  yours,  and  with  mutual 
smiles  and  bows  escorted  her  back  to  her  former  place." 

"  Puppy  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  /  ever  practised  any  of 
this  ridiculous  sort  of  behavior  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  sir,  when  your  joints  were  a  trifle  more 
flexible  than  now.  But  such  was  the  behavior,  and,  absurdly 
tender  and  impressive  as  it  was,  it  never,  in  those  days, was  held 
to  bind  either  of  the  parties  thus  playing  the  fool,  in  any  mortal 
or  spiritual  engagements.  But  the  case  is  altered  now,  and  even 
you,  sir, — "  to  the  father — "even  you,  sir,  are  evidently  dis 
posed  to  subscribe  to  the  prevailing  notion  that  when  a  block 
head  behaves  aftp"  this  fashion,  there's  something  in  it." 


222  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  How,  sir,  —  what  mean  you  —  I  believe  in  such  nonsense?" 

"  But  it  is  evident  you  do,  sir,  whatever  you  may  think ; 
for  look  you,  here  come  my  Lord  Rawdon  and  my  Lord  Ed 
ward  Fitzgerald ;  and  the  younger  of  these  two  scapegrace 
Irish  lords,  plays  courtier  to  my  sister  Carrie,  and  by  her  finger 
tips  he  conducts  her  to  the  harpsichord,  and  she  sings  for  him 
and  plays  for  him,  and  he  stands  over  her  all  the  while  looking 
his  raptures  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
hair,  and  sighing  sentimentally,  and  imploring  in  subdued  tones 
for  "  one  more  divine  song  from  those  divine  lips," — playing 
the  foppish  sentimentalist  as  the  young  foplings  of  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second  used  to  do,  your  Sedleys  and  Rochesters 
and  Ethereges,  Savilles,  and  Lovells ;  and  you  jump  headlong 
to  the  conclusion  that  all  this  is  love  —  that  our  poor  rustic  sister 
has  made  a  conquest  of  a  lord,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
your  dream  now  is  of  ennobling  the  family  —  having  a  lord  in 
it,  and  probably  seeing  before  you  die " 

The  baron  silenced  him  with  a  roar. 

"  Zounds,  sir,  do  you  hold  me  to  be  a  fool !" 

"  By  no  means,  sir,  but  the  wisest  man  is  hardly  wise  when 
'his  peculiar  weakness  is  assailed.  Now,  you  are  a  born  aristo 
crat,  and  both  of  these  Irish  lords  see  the  way  to  your  sympa 
thies.  They  have  flattered  you  by  attentions  which  you  sup 
pose  to  be  peculiar,  and  what  would  be  a  commonplace  civility 
in  a  court,  you  find  to  be  a  special  committal  in  a  wild  country 
like  ours.  And  you  are  rilling  my  poor  little  sister's  head  with 
all  sorts  of  notions  of  conquest,  until  she  too  begins  to  think  of 
foreign  conquest,  and  of  stars  and  garters,  and  of  a  presentation 
at  court,  and  heaven  knows  what  besides,  in  the  shape  of  high 
society,  state,  and  grand  establishments,  among  the  British 
nobility." 

"  Now,  Mr.  St.  Julien,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  stifling  his 
anger,  and  striving  to  respond  in  the  same  quizzical  humor  with 
his  son — "  would  not  anybody  suppose  from  this  puppy's  non 
sense,  so  seriously  stated,  that  there  was  some  truth  in  all  this 
statement ;  that  I  had  really  been  playing  the  fool  with  these 
Irish  lords,  and  that  my  head  was  really  turned  with  their 
attentions?  And  all  his  invention  comes  from  the  simple  state 
ment  which  I  made  him,  that  they  had  been  here,  and  spent  a 


T.  228' 

night  with  me.  As  for  my  daughter,  sir,  T  see  no  reason  why 
she  should  be  flattered  by  any  man's  -attentions,  or  any  lord's. 
She  is  worthy,  sir  —  to  my  notion  —  of  any,  the  noblest  person 
in  the  three  kingdoms.;  and  it  is  a  mere  scandal  to  speak  of 
her,  as  being  delighted  with  the  favor  of  my  Lord  Edward.  In 
truth,  sir,  she  was  hardly  polite  to  him.  Yet  he  was  attentive 
—  very  attentive  —  though  by  no  means  guilty  of  any  such  fop- 
pish  excruciations  as  that  young  puppy  would  insinuate." 

Here  Carrie  herself  interrupted  playfully. 

"  Now,  papa,  don't  pretend  to  lessen  the  merits  of  the  con 
quest  I  had  made.  I  protest  against  both  your  account  and 
Willie's  ;  and  do  complain  of  the  disposition  which  you  both 
show,  to  deprive  me  of  the  secret  satisfaction  which  I  feel  in  the 
visit  of  these  noble  lords.  You,  my  father,  are  of  the  opinion 
that  my  Lord  Rawdon  came  here  on  political  accounts,  to  ob 
tain  your  counsels  in  respect  to  the  war  and  the  country ;  and 
you  took  good  care  to  inform  him  of  all  he  wished  to  learn,  and, 
1  fancy,  a  great  deal  more  ;  you,  Willie,  have  a  notion  that, 
knowing  British  power  to  be  declining  everywhere  in  Carolina, 
my  lord  only  came  hither  to  prevent  by  conciliation  the  defec 
tion  from  the  good  cause  of  so  strong  a  supporter  of  royal 
government.  You  are  both  decidedly  wrong.  He  came  hither 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  introduce  my  Lord  Edward  Fitz 
gerald.  He  had  heard  of  me  in  Ireland  ;  he  had  exchanged 
from  the  East  India  army  into  the  19th  regiment,  as  soon  as  he 
found  that  its  destination  was  Carolina ;  and  no  sooner  does  he 
arrive,  than  he  volunteers  as  an  aid  to  my  Lord  Rawdon,  and 
persuades  his  lordship  to  visit  the  Barony,  simply  to  get  a  sight  of 
myself,  and  when  he  did  get  a  sight  of  me,  and  heard  me  play 
and  sing,  it  was  all  over  with  him.  I  protest,  that  he  was  in  rap 
tures,  and  that  Willie's  picture,  though  something  of  a  carica 
ture,  was  yet  so  very  like  the  truth*  that,  in  simple  honesty,  I 
am  compelled  to  recognise  the  portrait.  There,  gentlemen,  you 
have  my  version  of  this  true  history.  It  is  such  as  a  young 
damsel  alone  could  furnish, — who  seet.  ~nore  deeply  into  the  true 
motives  of  Irish  lords  than  anybody  else,  j  You  see  how  every 
thing  hangs  together  in  nicely-adjusted  connection ;  how  the 
parts  fit;  the  cause  and  the  effect  equally  discernible.  You  Gee 
how  earnest  was  the  aim  of  my  Lord  Edward;  with  what  love- 


224  THE    FORAYERS. 

like  tenacity  he  pursued  it ;  at  what  sacrifice  of  comfort :  a* 
what  risk  of  life  ;  and  you  see  the  result ; — he  has  come  —  he 
has  seen,  and  I  have  conquered.  Pray  now,  if  you  arc  gentle 
men,  do  not  strive  to  lessen  the  merits  of  my  conquest,  or  make 
me  doubtful  of  my  lover.  But,  from  sentiment  to  supper  ;  I  see 
the  servant  beckons  us." 

And  she  rose  gracefully  as  she  spoke,  and  took  the  arm  of 
her  brother. 

"What  a  conceited  baggage!"  exclaimed  the  veteran. 
«  But" — shaking  his  head  more  seriously,  he  added —  "  she  is 
half  right.  I  do  believe  my  Lord  Edward  has  lost  his  heart !" 

Willie  laughed  merrily,  and  a  slight  smile  dawned  upon  the 
small  and  well-cut  mouth  of  St.  Julien.  Little  Peter,  at  this 
moment  appeared, to  wheel  the  colonel  into  the  supper-room; 
and  the  scene  changed  in  a  few  seconds  to  the  latter  apart 
ment. 


MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   DREAMING.  225 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAMING. 

IN  the  good  old  times  —  and  we  are  too  apt  to  suppose  that 
all  old  times  were  good  in  comparison  with  our  own  present ;  — 
an  absurd  notion,  natural  to  all  persons  who  .are  beginning  to 
get  old  themselves; — in  the  good  old  times,  supper  was  a  re 
past  of  great  significance,  and  not  a  little  state  with  all  who 
claimed  to  derive  from  an  English  original.  Our  baron  did  not 
abridge  in  any  degree  the  solemn  importance  of  the  meal. 
But  we  are  not  disposed  to  catalogue  on  the  present  occasion 
the  good  things  on  table.  Our  novelists,  following  Walter  Scott, 
have  indulged  in  such  details  ad  nauseam;  and  in  reporting  the 
attractive  varieties  of  viands,  which  provoked  the  appetites  of 
their  dramatis  persona,  they  have  too  frequently  taken  away 
all  the  appetites  of  their  readers.  There  is,  in  all  the  Bull  fam 
ily,  a  great  desire  to  see  a  well-spread  table.  It  would  seem 
that  cold  baked  meats  could  even  be  a  source  of  warm  delight 
to  mere  spectators  of  the  feast ;  and  charity  dinners  will  still  be 
honored  with  the  presence  of  numbers,  who  scan  eagerly  the 
performances  of  voracious  urchins  whom  they  feed  from  the 
hands  of  benevolence.  Whether  it  is  that  they  delight  to  see 
how  well  hunger  can  feed,  or  that  their  pleasure  arises  from  the 
unwonted  display  of  plum-pudding  charities  —  a  feast  one  day 
in  the  year,  in  marvellous  contrast  to  the  famine  of  the  other 
three  hundred  and  sixty-four  days — is  a  question  which  the  as 
cetic  philosopher  may  decide  for  himself,  the  point  is  one  which 
shall  not  interfere  with  our  story.  .For  a  like  reason,  we  shall 
content  ourselves  with  saying  simply  that  the  supper  table  at  the 
Sinclair  Barony,  on  the  present  occasion,  was,  as  usual,  amply 
spread,  and  with  a  sufficient  variety  to  pacify  the  hunger  of  any 
dragoon  officer  in  any  service  —  a  class  of  the  military  in  re 
spect  to  whom  the  appetite  is  said  always  to  be  of  proverbial  ex 

10* 


226  THE  FORAYERS. 

cellence.  There  were  mecits  cold  and  warm,  breadstuffs  of 
wheat,  rice,  and  corn;  toasts  and  cakes  ;  and  —  luxuries  rarely 
beheld  by  American  eyes  at  this  period  —  hot  cups  of  tea  and 
coffee,  sent  out  their  aromatic  sweets  at  every  plate  upon  the 
board.  The  young  lieutenants,  Cordes,  Mazyek,  and  Postell, 
were  invited  to  be  sharers  in  the  feast ;  while,  under  Willie 
Sinclair's  directions,  the  whole  body  of  dragoons  were  provided 
with  a  smoking'  supper  at  their  bivouac  in  the  great  avenue. 

Carrie  Sinclair  presided  as  hostess;  her  brother  officiating  in 
the  place  of  the  baron,  whose  game  leg  required  cushions,  and 
a  table  to  himself.  But  he  sate  close  at  hand,  and  mingled 
cheerfully  in  the  conversation  and  the  feast,  as  became  the  pro 
prietor.  And  the  gentlemen  feasted  with  a  due  sense  of  the 
merits  of  the  viands  ;  and  Carrie  was  kept  busy  in  the  lady 
like  employment  —  which  a  true  lady  can  make  so  graceful  — 
of  adjusting  the  degree  of  cream  and  sugar  to  those  cups,  "  which 
not  inebriate,"  but  cheer.  And,  excepting  the  clatter  of  plates, 
knives  and  forks,  there  was  silence  round  the  table  "  for  a 
time." 

But  the  first  vigorous  workings  of  appetite  over,  the  chat 
began ;  and  soon  the  great  silver  tray,  with  its  finely  cut  crys 
tal,  was  set  on  the  table,  six  goodly  bottles,  each  with  some 
choice  French  or  Spanish  liqueur.  This  constituted,  in  those 
good  old  times,  a  necessary  feature  of  a  planter's  supper-table, 
as  essential  as  the  tea  and  coffee ;  and  sometimes  the  lady  con 
descended  to  sip  of  the  celestial  blue,  or  red,  or  amber  drops,  at 
the  entreaty  of  the  gentlemen  —  i.e.,  be  it  remembered,  when 
it  could  no  longer  be  disguised  from  a  scandalous,  and  prying 
world,  that  the  aforesaid  lady  had  fairly  reached  that  certain 
age,  about  which  there  can  be  no  certainty.  We  suppose  it 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Carrie  Sinclair  was  still  in  pro 
found  ignorance  of  the  peculiar  virtues  of  any  of  the  said  liqueurs. 
Her  father,  however,  had  the  tray  handed  him,  and  filling 
one  of  those  tiny  glasses,  which  were  specially  appropriated  to 
these  fine  cordials,  he  sent  the  tray  round  to  the  several  guests. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  do  me  honor  in  a  glass  of  cordial  — 
I  am  happy  to  see  you  here." 

They  drank.  A  bugle  sounded  from  without,  and  the  young 
lieutenants  rose,  an<7  with  courtly  bows,  took  their  leave,  with 


.MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAMING.  227 

looks  that  would  have  lingered  still.  But  the  duty  was  a  strict 
one.  St.  Julien  alone  remained  with  the  colonel,  Willie  Sin 
clair,  and  Carre  ;  and  a  pleasant  but  casual  conversation  fol 
lowed,  which  our  space  will  not  suffer  us  to  put  on  record.  IB 
this  conversation  St.  Julien  mingled  sparingly ;  but  what  he 
said,  was,  as  usual,  marked  by  a  quiet  grace,  good  sense,  and 
propriety,  which  insensibly  had  its  effect  upon  the  veteran.  At 
length  Carrie  rose  and  left  the  room  for  the  parlor.  St.  Ju 
lien  kept  his  seal  for  a  while,  then  followed  her.  Seeing  this,  his 
old  twinge  of  jealousy  returned,  like  a  twinge  of  the  gout  to  the 
foot,  and  troubled  the  soul  of  the  veteran.  He  hallooed  for 
Little  Peter  to  wheel  him  into  the  parlor  also,  but  Willie  Sin 
clair  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Not  yet,  iny  dear  father,  if  you  please.     I  must  have  some 
serious  talk  with  you,  and  this  is  probably  the  only  chance  we 
have,  for  you  will  soon  retire,  and  I   shall  have  to  leave  the 
Barony  before  you  are  awake  in  the  morning." 
"  Why  so  soon,  Willie." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do  to-morrow,  sir,  and  shall  have  to 
ride  fast  for  the  next  three  days,  to  accomplish  the  various 
tasks  assigned  me." 

"  This  reminds  me,  Willie,  that  I  have  a  subject  of  very  se 
rious  talk  Avith  you.  Why,  sir,  are  you  in  this  ungentlemanly 
disguise.  If  you  have  a  military  command,  Avhy  reject  the  uni 
form,  Avhich,  whether  I  approve  the  cause  or  not,  is  on  the  face 
of  it  significant  of  an  honorable  military  service.  In  this  dis 
guise,  my  son,  you  endanger  life  and  honor  equally.  It  in 
creases  tenfold  the  horror  and  anxiety  Avhich  I  feel  in  conse 
quence  of  your  present  connection.  I  now  tremble  — not,  sir, 
that  you  may  be  slain  in  battle  —  for  this  is  not  necessarily  a 

dishonoring  fate,  though  you  perish  in  an  improper  cause but 

with  the  dread,  sir,  that  a  son  of  mine  may  be  destined  to  a 
felon's  death." 

"  The  risks  of  Avar  are  always  various,  as  they  are  always 
serious,  my  father.  In  the  performance  of  important  duties, 
such  as  the  heart  as  well  as  head  acknowledges,  AVC  are  not 
suffered  to  pick  and  choose  between  them.  You  are  right  in 
supposing  thai  I  incur  some  extra  risks  in  addition  to  those  of 
battle ;  but  the  end  Avhich  I  aim  at  is  of  such  vital  impor 


228  THE  FOHAYERS. 

tance  to  our  cause,  that  I  am  compelled  to  shut  my  eyes  to  it8 
superior  perils.  Of  course,  I  can  not  tell  you  what  these  dutier 
are.  I  trust,  however,  that  this  week  will  end  the  peculiar  ser 
vice  in  which  I  am  now  engaged,  and  I  shall  then  resume  my 
command  in  the  fields  of  open  warfare.  Let  this  suffice ;  a 
single  week  or  two  will  be  sufficient  for  iny  purposes." 

"But  in  that  week  or  two,  Willie  —  in  that  short  period  of 
time  —  what  may  not  happen!  Oh!  Willie,  my  son,  greatly 
as  you  have  vexed  and  disappointed  me  in  the  course  you  have 
thought  proper  to  pursue,  I  will  forgive  you  all,  if  you  will  only 
cast  off  these  mean  disguises,  and  appear  in  your  proper  char 
acter.  Now  that  I  see  your  present  employment,  the  horrible 
picture  of  the  cord  and  scaffold  are  ever  before  my  eyes.  Re 
member  Andre  !" 

The  son  was  touched  at  the  sudden  show  of  feeling  in  the  old 
man.  His  eyes  filled.  He  took  his  father's  hand. 

"  Believe  me,  sir,  no  one  more  bitterly  regrets  than  myself 
that  any  act  of  mine  should  give  you  pain,  or  startle  you  with 
a  moment's  apprehension.  1  trust,  sir,  that  I  feel  I  would  glad 
ly  die  to  make  you  happy.  But  my  opinions  and  sentiments 
involve  a  duty  of  performance,  and  one  duty  has  inevitably 
grown  out  of  another.  It  will  end  soon — this, the  most  painful 
and  perilous  part  of  it  —  and  you  shall  then  be  relieved  from 
all  farther  anxiety  on  this  score." 

"  You  have  passed  without  a  flag,  within  the  British  posts, 
Willie  —  you  meditate  doing  so  again." 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,  sir,  upon  the  subject.  It  is  only 
proper  that  you  should  know  nothing — not  because  it  would 
harm  our  cause,  but  as  it  would  make  your  relations  somewhat 
awkward  in  any  future  meeting  with  the  officers  of  the  British 
army." 

"  Oh  !   do  not  heed  me  in  this  matter." 

"  I  must  heed  everything,  equally  on  your  account,  my  own, 
and  that  of  the  service  in  which  I  am  engaged.  Let  us  now 
talk  of  a  subject  which  more  immediately  concerns  yourself  and 
my  sisters." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Willie  ?" 

'You  will  all  have  to  leave  the  Barony,  sir,  and  the  sooner 
you  ^o  so  the  better      This  region  will  shortly  become  the  ac- 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAMING.  229 

tivc  scene  of  war.  Here  will  be  the  shock  of  the  contending 
armies.  The  whole  country  between  the  Santee  and  the  Edisto 
will  constitute  but  one  vast  theatre  of  action,  more  or  less  em 
ployed,  and  for  a  period  more  or  less  prolonged; and  every  spot 
of  this  precinct  will  be  traversed  alternately  by  conflicting 
armies.  They  will  rock  to  and  fro  over  the  country,  and  the 
bloodiest  trials  of  stre.  gth  may  take  place  at  your  very  door. 
Of  course,  all  will  be  confusion,  insecurity,  and  absolute  danger. 
Neither  party  will  be  able  to  afford  protection  against  the  law 
less  bands  that  hover  along  the  track  of  armies,  and  snatch  at 
spoil  whenever  it  offers.  You  can  not  desire  to  linger  in  such  a 
region,  under  such  circumstances;  and  my  counsel  is  that  you 
remove,  within  a  week  if  possible,  across  the  Santee,  and  take 
up  your  abode  with  Aunt  Malcolm." 

For  a  moment  the  old  man  was  confounded.  When  he  re 
covered  himself,  he  said  : — 

"  And,  pray,  from  what  reasons  do  you  gather  the  prospect 
of  Avar  in  this  neighborhood  ?" 

"  It  is  almost  inevitable.  Here  the  British  general  will  be 
required  to  make  his  last  stand." 

"  Pshaw  !  the  old  story  !  Do  you  hope  to  make  me  believe 
any  such  nonsense,  when  I  know  that  rny  Lord  Rawdon  has 
relieved  Ninety-Six,  and  has  driven  your  blacksmith  commander 
out  of  the  country." 

"  He  did  not  drive  him  far,  sir,  and  the  game  is  reversed. 
Lord  Rawdon  is  even  now  in  full  retreat." 

"  Impossible,  sir  !     Impossible  !" 

"  But  true,  nevertheless.  Ninety-Six  is  abandoned  ;  and  in 
proof  of  the  acknowledged  incapacity  of  the  British  forces  to 
hold  the  country,  the  loyalists  of  Ninety-Six  district  are  now  on 
the  march;  men,  women,  children,  goods,  and  chattels,  umlu 
Cruger's  escort,  seeking  a  last  refuge  within  the  walls  ( 
Charleston." 

"  Not  a  word  of  this  will  I  believe." 

"  On  my  honor,  sir,  it  is  all  true.  Lord  Rawdon's  successes 
were  wholly  momentary.  The  arrival  of  three  fresh  regiments 
at  Charleston  —  not  destined  for  service  here  —  enabled  him  to 
make  a  rapid  march  for  the  relief  of  Ninety-Six.  That  duty 
done,  he  feels  himself  unable  to  retain  the  post  he  has  relieved. 


230  THE    FORAYERS. 

t 

His  only  hope  was  to  save  the  garrison,  and  cover  the  exodus 
of  the  loyalist  inhabitants.  His  force  is  inadequate  for  hiore." 

"  But  there  will  be  new  regiments  from  Great  Britain." 

"  That  is  impossible.  Her  resources  are  exhausted  •  and 
diese  troops  that  have  come  out  from  Ireland  are  not  to  be 
relied  on.  I  am  able  to  assure  you,  that  their  officers  are 
scarcely  able  to  keep  them  in  subjection,  and  numbers  desert 
daily.  I  do  not  deceive  you  in  anything.  But,  whether  the 
British  receive  re-enforcements  or  not  —  whether  they  recover 
their  power,  or  not  —  this  region  is  doomed  to  be  the  theatre  of 
war  !  The  armies  will  ravage  it ;  and  you  may  judge,  for 
yourself,  from  the  events  of  this  day,  what  will  be  the  security 
of  your  family,  when  the  marauders  shall  become  hundreds, 
where  there  are  now  but  scores.  Hundreds  lurk  in  the  wake, 
and  upon  the  wings,  of  both  armies,  whom  neither  army  can 
catch  or  control.  Let  me  entreat  you,  sir,  to  be  warned  in  sea 
son,  and  to  retire  from  the  region  till  it  is  relieved  from  the 
presence  of  both  armies.  A  month  or  two  of  absence  will  suf 
fice.  The  British  will  be  compelled  to  take  shelter  in  Charles 
ton  before  Christmas." 

A  smile  curled  the  lip  of  the  veteran.  His  son  saw  it,  and 
hastily  continued  : — 

"  Do  not,  my  dear  father,  suffer  your  intense  loyalty  to  be 
tray  your  understanding.  I  do  not  deal  in  prophecy,  but  in 
simple  fact,  of  which  your  own  reason  may  assure  you  at  any 
moment.  Look  at  the  state  of  the  case.  You  have  seen  the 
British  recently  abandoning  post  after  post;  contracting  their 
sphere  of  operations;  relieving  a  post  merely  to  leave  it  to  the 
enemy ;  withdrawing  from  their  homes  a  whole  community,  as 
no  longer  able  to  protect  them;  hiring  foreign  mercenaries; 
unable  to  rely  upon  their  Irish  subsidies!  now  almost  the  only 
source  upon  which  they  can  count  for  any  ;  and  under  continual 
apprehension  in  Charleston,  their  chief  garrison,  which  betrays 
either  their  timidity  or  their  conscious  weakness." 

"  Oh !  that  is  because  Charleston  is  entrusted  to  such  a  dirtj 
scoundrel  as  Balfour." 

"  No,  sir !  Balfour  is  a  selfish  and  dastardly  rogue,  but  he 
has  not  neglected  the  interests  of  his  king,  though  he  has 
grievously  mistaken  'hem.  He  could  do  no  better  with  the 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S    DREAMING.  231 

means  allowed  him.  His  means  are  now  exhausted.  Rawdon'8 
are  exhausted.  Rawclon  is  an  able  man,  one  of  the  ablest  of  the 
British  army,  but  he  is  sick  of  the  service,  and  he  foresees  its 
disasters.  He  is  now  claiming  to  be  an  invalid — " 

"  Sir,  I  tell  you,  my  Lord  Rawdon  is  in  as  fine  health  as  any 
man  I  ever  saw.  Remember,  it  is  not  three  weeks  since  I  had 
hirn  at  my  board." 

"  And  yet  I  tell  you,  that  my  Lord  Rawdon  will  retire  to 
Europe,  on  the  plea  of  ill  health,  as  soon  as  he  gets  back  to 
Charleston." 

"  Prophecy  again,  Willie." 

"  You  will  see.  I  know  all  their  secrets.  I  have  given  you 
the  true  history.  But,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  Rawdon  is 
in  full  retreat,  Suppose,  sir,  that,  within  a  week,  you  hear  this 
news  confirmed  by  other  authorities  —  will  you  then  retire  to 
the  hills  of  Santee?  I  do  not  ask  you  to  believe  me,  though 
you  surely  know  that  I  could  never  deceive  you.  But  if  other 
proofs  reach  you,  sir,  will  you  not  then  see  and  feel  the  neces 
sity  of  putting  my  sisters  and  yourself  in  a  place  of  safety  ?" 

"  But  what  will  my  flight  — for  such  it  will  be  — what  will  it 
argue  to  my  Lord  Rawdon  ?" 

"Nothing  more  than  a  common  prudence — having  reference 
to  the  safety  of  women  and  children.  Lord  Rawdon  knows 
your  loyalty  —  knows  that,  in  your  situation,  you  can  not  be  a 
combatant.  Nay,  ask  himself,  and  he  will  tell  you,  put  these 
girl-children  out  of  the  way  of  the  two  opposing  armies." 

After  a  pause  the  old  man  said  :— 

"  I  will  think  of  it,  Willie.  I  will  think  of  it.  But  let  us 
join  Carrie." 

At  that  moment,  Carrie  was  heard  singing  in  the  piazza,  and 
no  doubt  St.  Julien  was  her  companion  —  perhaps  her  only  one. 
He  had  had  an  excellent  opportunity.  The  old  baron  thought 
of  this.  He  had  another  twinge,  almost  like  one  of  the  gout,  as 
he  recollected  how  long  they  had  been  left  together.  Little 
Peter  was  again  put  in  requisition  —  and  the  veteran,  chair  and 
cushions,  were  wheeled  from  the  supper-room  into  the  parlor, 
and  from  parlor  to  piazza,  where  they  certainly  found  St. 
St.  Julien  and  Carrie  alone  together.  Little  Lottie,  tired  out, 
had  been  carried  off  to  bed. 


232  THE    FOKAYEIIS. 

There  was  nothing  suspicious  in  the  appearance  of  the  twc. 
who  occupied  the  piazza  on  the  appearance  of  father  and  son. 
They  were  not  particularly  near  each  other,  and  neither  of 
them  betrayed  any  confusion.  But  the  old  man  still  had 
twinges,  and,  what  with  the  reflection  that  "  the  Frenchman' 
—  as  old  Sinclair  still  persisted  in  calling  St.  Julien — had 
enjoyed  a  most  excellent  opportunity  which  he  could  scarcely, 
as  an  old  soldier,  be  supposed  to  have  neglected,  and  the  start 
ling  and  totally  unexpected  intelligence,  as  disagreeable  as 
startling,  which  his  son  had  revealed  to  him,  the  veteran  wai, 
just  as  querulous  as  he  could  be  within  gentlemanly  limits. 
St.  Julien  heard  quietly  the  growlings  of  the  senior,  and  said 
nothing.  Willie  Sinclair  was  as  playful  as  if  neither  war,  nor 
rebellion,  nor  treachery,  were  in  the  land,  and  Carrie  laughed 
as  light-heartedly  at  his  badinage  as  if  her  lover  were  not  sit 
ting  within  six  feet  of  her. 

"  The  worst  of  your  gout,  my  dear  father,"  said  Willie  — 
'and  I  suppose  it  is  the  case  with  other  gouty  persons  —  is 
that  you  not  only  feel  pain,  but  that  you  do  not  sympathize 
with  pleasure.  Now,  sir,  sitting  here  in  the  delicious  balmy 
softness  of  this  breeze,  with  the  moon  just  rising  over  that  pine 
forest,  everything  so  calm,  so  soft,  so  delicious,  it  is  wonderful 
that  anything  —  care,  pain,  fear,  doubt,  apprehension- -should 
leave  us  totally  insensible  of  the  prospect  —  the  scene  —  the 
sweet  serenity  and  heaven-like  peace,  over  earth  and  heaven 
The  heart  ought  to  soften  insensibly,  the  fancy  become  lively, 
the  whole  soul  winged  and  rising  in  sympathy  with  the  rich, 
pure,  delicious  nature,  every  pulse  of  which  just  now  seems  to 
respond  in  exquisite  harmony.  Who  thinks  of  strife  now  — 
who  remembers  the  past  conflict,  or  the  past  danger  1  It  seems 
sinful,  indeed,  that  we  should  not  forget.  "  Sufficient  for  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof;"  and  let  the  Future  bring  its  own  mis 
sion  of  mischief,  without  sending  expresses  to  bring  in  the  intel 
ligence." 

And,  sooth  to  say,  the  scene  was  very  sweet  and  beautiful  ~ 
so  calm,  so  serene ;  the  pines  slumbered,  or  only  murmured  to 
the  zephyr  —  the  moon,  meanwhile,  hallowed  all  their  tops  with 
the  softest  effulgence  —  in  the  blue  heavens,  large  masses  of 
white,  creamy  clouds  floated  away  slowly  from  the  approaching 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAMING.  283 

orb  of  night, —  but  :;ot  so  fast,  but  thai  they  momently  put  on 
fresh  robes  of  silver,  and  grew  themselves  to  glories  as  they 
swept  away  with  their  long  trailing  garments  of  softest  lustre. 
Down  the  long  dark  avenue,  the  few  fires  kept  up  by  the  dra 
goons,  grew  gradually  dim,  in  the  increasing  light  of  the  moon, 
which  covered  the  shadowy  foliage  with  its  own  brightness,  and 
now  began  to  scatter  a  thousand  droplets,  which,  falling  through 
the  thick  evergreen  tops,  lay  upon  earth  like  so  many  bright 
pearls  imploring  to  be  gathered.  Hardly  a  sound  was  heard  to 
break  the  delicious  serenity  of  the  scene ;  save  now  and  then  a 
murmur  from  the  remoter  part  of  the  encampment,  where  groups 
of  the  dragoons  kept  wakeful  in  merry  chat  or  song,  beguiling 
their  watch  as  they  could  with  the  small  resources  of  a  volun 
teer  soldiery.  Occasionally,  the  faint  cries  of  a  hound  in  the 
forest,  hunting  con  amore,  or  crying  for  a  lost  master,  added  to 
the  picturesque  sweetness  of  the  night. 

"  Let  no  one  disparage  our  plain  country,  as  wanting  in  scenic 
beauty,"  said  Willie  Sinclair,  "when  we  possess  such  blue  skies, 
such  delicious  moonlight,  such  vast  plains  of  verdure,  tree  stri 
ving  with  tree  for  the  embrace  with  light  and  air;  such  a  wilder 
ness  of  shrub  and  flower;  shrubs  that  give  out  odor  as  you 
crush  them,  flowers  that  woo  your  every  step  with  bloom  and 
beauty  as  you  go,  and  birds  that  sing  in  clouds,  with  a  gush  of 
voices  that  tell  only  of  summer  buds  and  blossoms,  and  summer 
fancies.  Ah,  Carrie,  shall  the  time  ever  come  when  there  shall 
cease  to  be  a  glory  for  our  eyes  in  yonder  moon  —  when  the 
bloom  shall  pass  away  from  the  forest,  and  the  perfum^  from 
the  flower,  and  we  shall  only  pursue  our  way  among  walks  of 
winter,  our  feet  among  the  dead,  to  find  the  vista  ending  only 
in  a  cheerless  grave  V1 

"  A  sad  thought !  and  this  is  not  the  season  for  sad  thoughts, 
Willie.  You  are  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  Do  not 
sadden  our  moments  now,  by  gloomy  fancies." 

"  I  will  not !  Come!  I  will  be  generous.  You  have  not 
heard  me  sing  for  a  long  time,  and  I  have  a  new  song,  made  by 
our  partisan  troubadour,  gallant  George  Dennison." 

"  What !  have  you  a  poet  too  among  your  rapscallions  ?"  de 
manded  the  veteran  colonel. 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  it  is  perhaps  an  argument  in  favor  of  our  cause 


234  THE    FOUAYERS. 

that  w  e  can  boast  so  good  a  poet  as  George  Dennison,  since  the 
poets  have  been  always  patiiots." 

"  If  so,  Willie,  your  cause  is  lost :  for  our  army  boasts  of 
Major  Andre  and  Henry  Barry,"  quoth  the  colonel. 

"  Say  nothing  of  poor  Andre,  father,"  said  Carrie  binclaii. 

"  No  !  no  !  And  the  less  said  of  Harry  Barry  as  a  poet,  per 
haps  the  better.  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  so  much  wrong  to 
Pennison's  ma.se  as  to  subject  her  to  a  comparison  with  that  of 
the  little  major.  But  you  shall  hear  how  our  own  Georgie 
sings.  He  makes  his  own  music,  by  the  way,  as  -well  as  the 
words,  and  ir»  A>\  improvisatore.  The  song  which  I  now  giv»> 
you  v.'iis  struck  off  at  a  heat,  one  night,  over  the  supper-tabln 
of  Captain  Porgy,  while  we  lay  on  the  Great  Ped?p.  We  line 
Colonels  Maham  and  Singleton  at  supper,  and  half  a  $;—«  *x> 
sides.  I  admit  that  the  poet's  inspiration  did  not  come  tiii 
supper  was  quite,  -.vcr,  and  the  Jamaica  in  free  circulation." 

"  Well,  leave  off  the  long  preface  and  begin,"  said  the  baron. 
"  1  confess,  Willie,  I  not  only  wish  to  hear  you  sing  once  more, 
but  I  am  curious  tc  soe  what  sort  of  a  poet  you  keep  in  you. 
rebel  tents." 

Willie  Sinclair  tried  and  tuned  the  guitar  in  a  few  moments, 
then  sang  tt.e  following  lyv'c  in  a  fine,  powerful  voice,  and  witl>. 
c-jusiderab)'  taste  and  spirit: — 


'My  country  is  my  mistress, 

And  in  her  beauties  rare, 
I  read  the  sweetest  hist'ries 

That  make  a  L.ved  one  dear: 
Her  charms  invite  to  glory, 

They  won  the  brave  of  yore, 
And  linked  with  gallant  story 

Shall  win  for  evermor 
My  heart,  ray  hearr\  dear  rtistreee 
My  heart  is  at  thy  feet! 


"Do  foemen  gaze  upon  fch/je, 

\V  th  eager  thirst  to  spoil; 
To  tfrest  thy  glory  from  ths« 

And  trample  on  thy  soil  I 
Ho  I  let  me  hear  thy  summour 


DREAMING.  d 

But  lift  thy  spear  and  cry, 
'Let  him  who  loves  his  country, 

Protect  her  rights  or  die !' — 
My  sword,  my  sword,  dear  mistress 
My  sword  is  at  thy  feet? 

8. 

'*  I'm  but  a  forest  ranger, 

With  cloak  and  cap  awry, 
But,  in  the  hour  of  danger, 

I'll  do  for  thee  or  die ; 
The  charms  that  won  our  sires, 

Are  fresh  and  sweet  to  me, 
As  when,  through  hostile  fires, 

Their  brave  souls  set  thee  fre* 
My  life,  my  life,  dear  mistress, 
My  life  is  at  thy  feet!" 

"  And  it  is  such  stuff  as  this  time  satisfies  your  patriotism,  if 
it?  It  is  worthy  of  the  Jamaica  which  inspired  it.  Why, 
"Willie,  it  has  not  even  the  merit  of  decent  rhyme.  How  do 
you  make  '  from  thee'  and  '  upon  thee'  correspond  ?  And  what 
a  gross  license  is  taken  in  making  '  mistress'  and  '  hist'ries' 
rhyme  !  Shocking !  The  fellow  must  be  an  Irishman,  I 
fancy." 

"  H^  is  of  the  stock,  at  all  events.  But  you  must  not  be  too 
exacting  about  the  rhymes  in  a  song,  where  much  liberty  is 
usually  allowed.  Have  you  seen  the  poems  of  the  new  Scotch 
Doet,  a  lad  named  Burns,  a  mere  peasant,  who  is  astonishing 
tlui  British  people  by  his  native  melodies  1  Dennison  has  sev 
eral  of  them,  and  they  are  very  sweet  and  simple,  and  withal 
very  touching,  but  the  verses  are  just  as  rude,  and  free  and 
easy,  as  those  of  Dennison ;  not  a  whit  better  in  respect  to 
rhyme ;  but  that  does  not  materially  hurt  them  for  singing,  and 
a  little  rudeness  may  be  always  permitted  wherf  the  measure  is 
correct,  and  where  the  sentiment  is  good.  Besides,  this  of  Den 
nison  was  an  absolute  outgushing  at  the  moment  —  an  improvi 
sation —  and  I  hold  it  to  be  a  wonderful  proof  of  the  spontane 
ous  merit  of  the  minstrel." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  there  is  no  such  thing  as  improvising  Engli&\i 
poetry.  I  have  no  doubt  he  made  it  by  dint  of  repeated  ham 
mering  in  his  private  workshop,  and  his  chief  merit  is  in  memo 


23t  THE   FORAYERS. 

rizing  it  well.  TLey  say  that  Sheridan  does  the  same  thing  m 
his  epigrams  and  speeches.  But  I  have  had  enough  of  your 
backwoods  genius.  British  poetry  is  good  enough  for  me,  and 
will  serve  our  purposes  for  the  next  hundred  years.  I  must  go 
to  bed.  Mr.  St.  Julien,  you  take  a  bed  with  us  of  course,  and 
we  shall  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"No,  sir!  I  am  obliged  to  you,  but  I  must  not  indulge  iv 
iny  such  luxury  now.  I  will  share  the  night  with  my  dragoon? 
I  am  sorry  to  add,  sir,  that  we  shall  ride  at  dawn." 

"  Well,  sir,  be  at  home  here  while  you  stay.  Your  friei.d  will 
do  the  honors.  Good  night,  sir.  Willie,  you  will  see  me  before 
you  retire  1" 

"  Yes,  sir :  I  will  help  you  now  to  your  chamber." 

"No  !  no  !  Little  Peter  is  better  able  to  do  that.  He  kii^wi 
just  i.cny  to  manage  it.  Carrie,  my  child." 

She  lieu  io  him,  and  kissed  him  fondly. 

"  I  will  visit  you  wheii  Willie  does,  father  " 

"  Very  good;  ooly  do  not  be  too  late." 

*Tj.'.un  the  old  man  had  retired,  Willie  Sinclair  proposed  a 
walk  to  his  :,ibtcr  and  St.  Julien,  through  the  encampment  of 
the  dragooiift,  who  skirted  the  avenue  in  groups,  their  horses  all 
being  tethered  to  the  trees  on  the  'lower  side.  As  they  ap 
peared,  rhe  bugler  of  the  corps,  a  fellow  of  no  small  merit  in  his 
depart". r.it,  stealing  off  to  the  end  of  the  avenue,  welcomed 
uiem  with  F;  plaintive  German  air,  the  long-drawn  melancholy 
notes  of  which  chimed  harmoniously  with  the  hour  and  the 
scene.  By  the  failing  camp-fires  and  the  slowly-rising  moon, 
the  picturesque  of  the  bivouac  was  greatly  enlivened  and 
increased. 

'  What  a  glorious  sight  must  an  encampment  of  a  great  army 
be,"  exclaimed  Carrie,  "  an  army,  such  as  they  see  in  Europe 
twenty  or  thirty  thousand  men,  gayly  caparisoned,  helmets  of 
polished  steel,  plumes  flaunting  in  air,  silken  and  gorgeous  ban 
ners,  and  glittering  harness." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Carrie ;  a  magnificent  spectacle.  We  can 
-mow  you  no  such  sight  in  Carolina.  But  a  dragoon  charge 
through  an  open  pine  wood,  Carrie,  is  a  sight  also  worth 
seeing." 

"*  She  may  soo  snvnotl  ing  of  the  shock  of  armies  here  before 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS   ihlEAMTNfi.  237 


long,"  was  the  remark  of  St.  Julien.  "  I  hope,  Sinclair  that 
you  persuaded  your  father  to  remove  to  the  Hills." 

"  I  tried  to  d<^  it.  I  gave  him  all  the  reasons  I  could  for  it  : 
and  you,  Carrie,  must  follow  up  the  counsel  when  I  am  gone. 
Better,  indeed,  that  you  should  affect  a  degree  of  apprehension 
that  you  may  not  feel,  so  that  you  attain  this  object." 

"  But  is  there  really  any  danger  of  this?"  asked  the  damsel 
in  lower  tones. 

"  Yes  !  nothing  can  be  more  probable.  Within  ten  days  the 
two  armies  may  cross  bayonets  on  these  very  plains.  I  shall 
urge  upon  him  the  removal  of  the  family  again  to-night  ;  but  I 
fear  with  no  success.  My  father  is  not  easily  to  be  persuaded 
that  the  British  army  is  not  fully  able  to  give  him  security  in 
his  own  homestead;  and  to  every  argument  which  I  offer  he  op 
poses  their  invincibility.  He  supposes  that  all  I  say  is  the 
result  only  of  our  presumptuous  hopes  and  still  more  presump 
tuous  conceit.  Bat  here  comes  Little  Peter,  St.  Julien,  bring 
ing  out  a  jug  of  Jamaica  which  I  ordered  for  the  use  of  your 
troop.  Have  it  shared  among  them,  and  then  we  will  prepare 
for  sleep.  I  need  more  than  I  get  ;  and  the  two  hours  that  I 
enjoyed  on  your  bed  this  morning,  Carrie,  have  only  increased 
my  appetite  for  half  a  dozen  more  to-night." 

Little  Peter  now  appeared.  The  jug  of  Jamaica  was  dis 
tributed  among  the  eager  dragoons  ;  and,  while  St.  Julien 
escorted  Carrie  toward  the  dwelling  —  an  opportunity  for  the 
lovers'  leave-taking  thus  accorded,  which  we  are  sure  was  not 
unprofitably  employed  —  Sinclair  found  his  way  among  the 
dragoons,  shaking  hands  with  their  best  men,  and  showing  him 
self  familiarly  to  all.  The  troop  had  been  raised  by  himself, 
and  he  knew  the  way  to  make  himself  popular  with  them. 
When  he  rejoined  his  sister  and  St.  Julien,  they  were  again  in 
the  piazza,  the  latter  being  ready  to  depart.  The  two  separa 
ted  in  silence  ;  but  there  was  a  speech  in  the  final  squeeze  of 
the  hand  which  he  gave  her,  which  had  in  it  far  more  eloquence 
than  any  words  of  tenderness. 

St.  Julien  strolled  out  slowly  to  join  his  dragoons,  while 
Willie  and  his  sister  proceeded  together  to  the  chamber  of  the 
father.  It  is  needless  that  we  follow  them  thither.  We  can 
conceive,  by  what  we  already  know  of  the  parties,  the  sort 


238  THE   FOKAYERS. 

of  conversation  that  took  place  between  them.  Of  course,  Willie 
re-urged  the  removal  of  the  family  to  the  hills  of  Santee. 

"No,  no,  Willie!  If  I  go  anywhere,  I  retire  to  the  city!  If 
rebellion  is  to  be  triumphant,  this  country  is  no  place  for  me  !  " 

"  You  will  think  better  of  it.  Our  triumph  involves  no  forfeiture 
of  those  securities  of  law  and  liberty  which  make  a  country  precious 
to  a  people." 

"It  does!  it  does!  Once  break  down  the  barrier  of  rightful 
authority,  and  there  is  an  end  to  all  security  — all  right  — all  liberty  ! 
Then  rapine  and  appetite  Will  rage  like  wolves  throughout  the 
land  !  But  I  will  consider  your  suggestion.  It  will  be  time  enough 
when  the  two  armies  approach  the  neighborhood  to  determine. 
We  shall  have  sufficient  premonition  of  the  approach  of  the 
danger." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  sir  ;  but  I  can  say  no  more.  Only,  sir, 
let  me  entreat  that  you  be  governed  in  what  you  do,  by  the  single 
consideration  of  what  is  due  to  the  safety  of  the  girls." 

"  Surely,  Willie,  surely  !    I  think  of  them  only."  ' 

And  they  wrung  each  other's  hands  and  parted,  Carrie  accom 
panying  Willie  to  his  apartments.  They  could  hear  a  deep 
sigh  from  the  father's  chamber  after  they  had  left  it.  Poor  old 
man  !  He  had  many  foes  to  his  own  happiness  to  encounter  in 
his  own  prejudices.  Such  is  always  the  danger,  where  a  strong 
will,  tortured  by  conventional  laws,  is  desirous  of  subduing  the 
most  natural  of  human  instincts.  What  to  him  were  the  fancied 
rights  of  the  German  monarch  of  Great  Britain,  weighed  against 
the  claims  of  his  own  children,  and  the  sympathies  with  his  native 
soil  ?  Nothing,  really  ;  but  very  serious  obstacles,  indeed,  when 
we  consider  the  training,  the  teaching,  and  the  whole  experience 
of  his  early  life.  It  is  this  very  sort  of  despotism,  that  of  con 
vention  and  experience,  however  valuable  in  a  thousand  respects, 
which  make  it  so  difficult  for  men,  who  have  passed  the  mid 
dle  period  of  life,  to  learn  or  to  appreciate  the  new  truth  — 
the  inevitable  necessity  of  progress.  It  is  not  that  they  can 
not  learn  ;  it  is  because  the  task  is  so  much  harder  to  unlearn  ! 
and  old  men  rarely  love  to  clear  new  lauds ;— they  prefer  to  manure 
the  old. 


SCOUT  AGAINST  SCOUT  — TAKING  TRAIL.  239 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SCOUT  AGAINST  SCOUT — TAKING  TRAIL. 

BETWEEN  brother  and  sister,  so  really  kindred  and  truly  affec 
tionate  as  Willie  and  Carrie  Sinclair,  we  may  readily  conceive 
that  the  parting  was  as  difficult  as  it  was  tender.  But  it  was 
at  last  effected,  and  Willie  laid  himself  down  to  slumber.  He 
needed  sleep  and  felt  weariness,  and  was  just  dropping  into  that 
dreamy  [condition  of  mind,  which  promises  a  sleep  equally  serene 
and  refreshing,  when  he  heard  a  door  open  below,  a  rustling  in 
the  passage  to  his  chamber,  and  then  the  chamber-door  itself,  as 
it  turned  with  a  creak  upon  its  hinges.  He  raised  himself  up  at 
the  moment,  and  in  another  second  he  found  'Brain  at  his  side, 
fresh  from  that  famous  castle  in  the  "Four-Hole  Swamp,"  where 
we  had  the  pleasure  first  to  introduce  the  stalwart  and  faithful 
slave  t.o  the  knowledge  of  our  readers. 

"  Ha,  'Bram  !    You  are  late  !    All  right  ?  " 

"All  right  as  he  kin  be,  Mass  Willie.  I  bin  keep  late,  you  see, 
sence  dat  fellow,  Jim  Ballou,  bin  git  drunk  on  de  road.  He  hab 
bottle  in  he  pocket,  Mass  Willie,  and  nebber  'top  drink  till  he  finish 
'em  ;  all  he  se'f,  'cepting  one  sup  he  gee  to  me." 

"And  where's  Ballou  now  ?" 

"  He's  down  stairs ;  he  da  wait  for  you  to  call  'em.  I  no  bring 
'em  up,  for  'sturb  you  in  you  sleeping,  and  mek'  noise,  wid  he 
cowbelly  shoes;  and  besides  he  ain't  quite  git  overlie  drunk  yit." 

' '  Did  he  bring  in  any  papers  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  git  'em  !  I  wants  'em  to  gee  me;  I  fear'd  he  will 
loss  'em  ;  but  he  say,  'No  truss  'em  to  you,  nigger.'  No  truss  'em 
to  me  !  an'  he  so  drunk  all  day,  he  kain't  truss  hese'f." 

"Bring  him  up  here,  'Bram." 

Jim  Ballou  made  his  appearance  a  few  moments  after.  He 
was  a  well  made,  large,  vigorous  fellow,  with  an  ingenuous 
open  countenance,  frank  and  fair,  but  now  flushed  with  the 
signs  of  frequent  intemperance.  He  was  now  only  half  sober, 


240  THE  FORAYF/SS. 

and  just  drunk  in  that  degree  which  leaves  one  in  full  perstia 
fiion  of  his  own  entire  competence  and  importance.  Like  mos* 
persons  of  sanguine  temperament,  possessed  of  strength  and 
courage  —  and,  we  may  add,  conscious  of  his  own  fidelity  —  he 
was  apt  to  be  a  little  impudent  when  under  the  influence  of 
'ifjuor.  His  first  entrance  into  the  chamber  would  have  satis 
fied  Willie  Sinclair  of  his  condition,  without  rendering  necessary 
the  report  of  the  slave,  which  was  also  entirely  to  be  relied  on. 
Sinclair,  accordingly,  received  him  with  great  gravity,  sitting 
on  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  Have  you  brought  the  papers,  Ballou  ?" 

"  That  I  have,  major ;  they're  all  safe ;  but  I've  had  work, 
riding  and  fasting,"  giving  the  papers  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  drinking,  Ballou  1" 

"Yes,  indeed,  major,  you  may  say  that.  If  'twan't  for  a  sup 
or  two,  now  and  then,  at  the  bottle,  a  poor  fellow  would  break 
down  in  the  hard  riding  I've  got  to  do." 

"  You  seem  to  suffer  from  it,  Ballou ;  and  I  am  to  suppose 
you  do,  since  you  complain  of  it." 

"  Oh,  deuce  take  the  complaint,  major  !     I'm  not  given  to 
complainings,  though  the  work  is  mighty  hard  I  have  to  do. 
Yet,  I  gits  on ;  and,  as  I  takes  a  breeze  now  and  then,  I  con 
trives  to  keep  up.    I'm  good  for  a  frolic,  major,  whenever  there' 
a  chaince." 

The  major  only  gave  the  scout  a  glance  of  the  eye,  and  then 
proceeded  t^  examine  the  papers  which  he  brought.  This  he 
did  with  .rnestness '  and  deliberation.  Meanwhile,  Ballou 
strode  acr  js  the  chamber,  with  a  whistle,  picked  up  and  ex 
itmined  the  alabaster  ornaments  upon  the  mantlepiece,  upset  a 
vase  of  flowers,  awkwardly  replaced  them,  still  whistling,  rolled 
over  to  the  window,  and  stretched  his  head  out  for  the  enjoy 
ment  of  the  moonlight.  Sinclair  followed  him  for  a  moment 
with  his  eye. 

"Ballou!"  he  called. 

"  Yes,  major !  Here  we  are.  Are  them  papers  all  right, 
major  ?" 

"  Right  \     You  saw  General  Marion  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  '  Fox'  is  right  and  lively.  He  gin  me  a  fuP 
half-hour's  talk." 


SCOUT   AGAINST   SCOUT  —  TAKING    TRAIL.  241 

•'  I  hope  you  were  sober,  sir,  while  he  did  so." 

"  As  a  judge,  sir  !  Oh!  yes  —  couldn't  be  otherwise  sir;  at 
that  time  hadn't  drank  a  thimbleful  of  the  element.  Saw  the 
Fox,  sir,  as  I  say,  and  we  talked  a  while  ;  saw  Colonel  Maham 
too,  sir  —  had  a  talk  with  him.  Colonel  Singleton  had  some 
thing  to  say,  sir  —  not  much,  but  he's  a  gentleman,  sir  —  what 
he  had  to  say  was  very  sensible,  and  quite  elegant.  But.  didn't 
get  the  first  nip  of  the  element  from  either  of  the  gentlemen." 

"  And  where  are  they  now,  Ballon  ]" 

"Well,  sir,  taking  all  things  into  'count  —  what  they  said, 
and  what  I  suppose  they  had  to  do — they  are  now  opposite-  to 
Cave  Hall.  They  talked  of  pushing  upward,  off-hand,  sir,  and 
with  a  breezy  spur.  Colonel  Singleton  told  me  to  tell  you  that 
the  boats  would  be  ready  at  your  landing  to-morrow,  and  that 
you  must  not  delay  them." 

"Did  you  have  to  go  down  to  Nelson's?" 

"  Yes,  major.  That  was  a  devil  of  a  ride—  a  day  of  it  —  and 
a  mighty  lean  supper  to  sleep  upon." 

"  Any  report  from  that  quarter,  sir  ?" 

'  All  quiet,  I  believe,  sir  ?"  I  got  from  some  niggers  thai 
'Jiere  had  been  a  small  party  of  tory  gentlemen  at  Wantoot,  a 
day  or  two  ago,  but  they  went  off  to  the  South  somewhere." 

The  answers  were  given  with  tolerable  clearness.  There 
was  some  rambling  talk  on  the  part  of  the  scout  —  for  such  was 
Jim  Ballon,  and  one  of  the  best  in  the  service,  when  sober — 
but  we  have  condensed  the  substance  of  his  replies  into  the 
briefest  language.  This  rambling  of  the  speaker,  with  a  little 
too  much  of  the  dashing  in  his  tones  and  manner,  which  Sin 
clair  thought  quite  too  familiar  and  obtrusive,  were  now  to  find 
their  commentary. 

"  Ballon,  you  have  been  drinking." 

"  No  denying  the  insinuation,  major.  It's  my  little  infirmity, 
*ir.  But,  drunk  or  sober,  I  know  my  duty,  sir,  and  I  do  it?  sir 
—  I  do  it." 

"  You  may  think  so,  Ballou,  but  you  will  find  few  persons  of 
the  same  opinion.  I  certainly  can  not  trust  a  man,  whom,  at 
any  moment,  a  bottle  of  rum  or  whiskey  may  seduce  —  who.  nc 
matter  what  the  business  in  hand,  the  peril  to  himself  or  others. 
tli*1  importance  of  his  trusts,  or  the  necessity  of  having  ail  his 


242  THE  FOIiAYERS. 

wits  about  him,  forgets  all  in  the  most  miserable  and  beastlj 
temptations !" 

"Severe,  major  —  rather.  Severe,  I  may  say!  I'm  a  sin 
ner,  in  that  way.  sir,  I  admit  — but  I  never  neglect  my  duty, 
major  ! — never  !" 

"  I  do  not  know  that !  —  I  do  not  believe  it !  No  man  who 
puts  it  out  of  his  own  power  to  control  his  physical  and  mental 
energies,  and  to  use  them  at  a  moment's  warning,  but  must, 
Feme  time  or  other,  neglect  his  duties!  I  know  that  you  have 
peglected  yours  !  You  should  have  met  me  last  evening  at 
'Bram's  castle." 

"  I  tried,  sir,  but  I  couldn't.  The  thing  was  decidedly  im- 
popsible,  major  —  not  to  be  cbne  —  not  to  be  done!  Couldn't 
do  it  —  couldn't !" 

"Not  so,  sir  —  you  could  i  You  were  drinking  yesterday  as 
well  as  to-day.  More,  sir,  your  indiscretion  lias  done  mischief! 
You  have  suffered  yourself  to  be  seen  —  nay,  followed,  into  the 
swamp  —  so  that  Hell-fire  Dick,  and  some  of  his  gang,  are  pos 
sessed  of  all  the  clues  to  that  place  of  refuge." 

The  fellow  was  startled  and  humbled.  His  tones  and  man 
ner  changed.  He  grew  quite  sober  on  the  instant.  He  knew 
—  none  better  —  how  important  to  the  party  was  the  secret  of 
i  heir  hiding-places 

"Oh  !  Major  Willie,  tell  me,  it  ain't  so.  'You're  just  trying 
to  scare  me  —  that  you  are  —  to  scare  me — " 

"  It  is  so,  Ballon,  and  we  are  no  longer  secure  in  a  refuge 
which  would  have  been  particularly  important  at  this  juncture, 
if  the  knowledge  had  been  confined  to  ourselves.*  Look  at  that 
paper.  I  took  it  this  day  from  the  pocket  of  Hell-fire  Dick !" 

"  What !  you  had  him  in  your  hands?  —  Devil  Dick  in  you* 
hands?" 

"  Read  the  paper." 

The  scout  read  and  struck  his  head  with  his  hands. 

"  It's  true,  sir  !  It's  true  !  I've  been  a  fool  and  a  beast,  sir 
It's  clear  that  Hell-fire  Dick  followed  me  to  the  swamp.  But 
you  have  him  —  you  have  hung  him,  sir  —  he  was  outlawed, 
you  know.  You  hung  him  of  course  —  heels  free---  head  on 
one  side — you  hung  him  !" 

"  He  has  escaped !   and  no  doubt  remembers  the  rocue  to  the 


SCOUT   AGAINST  SCOUT  —  TAKING   TRAIL.  242 

castle,  just  as  well  without  this  memorandum  as  with  it.  Nay 
more :  he  had  with  him  a  party  of  four  others,  all  of  whom  arc 
prohably  possessed  of  the  same  secret." 

''  Who  are  they,  sir  ?"  asked  the  scout  quickly, 

"  Sam  Brydone— " 

"Ah  !   Skin-the-Serpent,  as  they  calls  him." 

"  Ralph  Branson — " 

"  He's  the  '  Trailer,'  and  a  mighty  good  seout,  but  a  great  ras 
cal.  And,  sir  —  he  gets  drunk  too." 

"Does  that  improve  his  quality  as  a  scout?" 

"  Oh !  no,  sir ;  but,  may  be,  it  will  give  me  a  better  chance 
at  him !" 

The  scout  did  not  see  how  fatal  was  the  admission  that  he 
thus  made.  Sinclair  quietly  remarked — 

"  And  he,  possibly,  congratulates  himself  upon  the  advantage 
which  a  like  habit  in  you  will  afford  to  him.  Drunkenness, 
you  see,  is  no  merit  in  a  scout." 

"I'm  afraid,  sir,  that's  a  true  notion  —  a  true  notion." 

"  The  other  fellows  were  Joe  Best  and  Pete  Blodgit." 

"  What  sir  —  our  Pete  ! " 

"Yes:  Best  will  not  trouble  us.  He  was  hung,  yestei day 
by  the  dragoons,  as  an  outlaw,  after  being  severely  wounded. 
Blodgit  is  a  person  to  be  watched  rather  than  feared.  There 
may  be  others  to  whom  Hell-fire  Dick  has  imparted  hit,  discov 
ery  ;  but  two  of  those  I  have  mentioned  were  probably  with 
him  when  he  made  it.  They  were  with  him  just  afterward. 
And  now,  sir,  you  see  what  is  due  to  your  drunkenness.  FOJ 
this  offence  I  will  not  punish  you,  but  I  can  no  longer  trust 
you,  Ballou." 

"Oh!  sir  —  major— -you  call  that  no  punishment — no  pun 
ishment —  to  me,  sir,  Jim  Ballou — to  me!" 

'  It  was  the  penalty,  well  known  to  you,  of  such  an  offence 
as  yours,  yet  you  have  not  feared  it,  Ballou.  I  am  unwilling 
to  risk  being  placed  in  a  relation  with  you  in  which  I  may  hai't 
to  punish  you ;  for  I  can  not  forget  that  we  have  known  each 
other  in  boyhood ;  and  I  prefer  to  dismiss  you  from  my  ser 
vice." 

"  Dismiss  me  from  your  service  —  me,  Jim  Ballou  !  Oh  !  nn  | 
major,  you  can't  do  that.  I  can't  be  dismissed.  I'm  yourinaa, 


244  THE   FORAYERS. 

sir  —  by  all  that's  affectionate  and  interesting,  major — I'm  yont 
man.  Can't  be  dismissed,  sir  —  stick  to  y.ou  right  and  left 
for  ad  and  backward,  sir — just  like  your  right  hand,  sir  —  lik*j 
your  dog,  sir — like  your  nigger,  major  —  like  your  nigger." 

"  N£>,  Ballon  ;  we  must  part." 

"  Psho,  major  —  but  you  must  be  jesting.  It's  unpleasant 
jesting,  sir,  between  old  friends,  Dismiss  me!  God  bless  me' 
What  a  notion  —  all  a  notion,  sir.  Why,  Willie  Sinclair,  'twas 
.Jim  Ballon  that  first  taught  you  to  cross  a  horse." 

"I'm  sorry,  Ballou  —  sorry  enough  —  but  I  can't  trust  yon 
any  more." 

"  What !  and  only  for  a  little  familiarity  with  the  jug — jug  ! 
with  the  jug  —  an  innocent  jug  —  a  bottle,  sir,  not  a  jug.  Jugs 
of  Jamaica  are  not  to  be  had  every  day.  A  mere  innocent  fa 
miliarity  with  a  bottle  —  a  black  bottle  of  Jamaica.  No,  no! 
Major  Willie,  you  can't  do  it.  The  thing  won't  be  done.  Dis 
miss  me  from  your  service!  I  won't  swear,  major,  but  I'll  take 
a  celestial  oath  upon  it,  that  the  thing  can't  be  done  —  won't  be 
clone,  sir  —  won't  suffer  itself  to  be  done." 

"  It  must  be  done."     More  seriously. 

"  And  only  for  that  little  familiarity  with  the  bottle.  Why, 
major,  the  bottle  rather  helps  my  ability.  It  does,  sir.  A 
touch  of -the  element,  sir,  always  gives  me  a  sort  of  life  to  be  up 
and  doing,  just  as  if  I  had  a  pair  of  wings  sir  —  makes  me  fly, 
sir,  makes  me  fly." 

"  You  shall  fly  no  more  for  me,  Ballou,  under  its  inspira 
tions." 

"  Come,  come,  major!  stop  that  now.  It  makes  me  feel  un 
easy,  sir  —  it  does.  I  know,  sir,  that  I'm  a  fool,  sir  —  easy  to 
be  persuaded,  sir,  when  the  liquor  speaks ;  but  what  then  ^ 
Aint  I  here  —  aint  the  papers,  there  —  aint  the  duty  done." 

"  Yes  !  and  as  I  have  shown  you,  it  is  sometimes  overdone  • 
and  I  owe  it  to  the  cause  in  which  I  am  engaged,  to  peril  none 
of  its  secrets  in  the  hands  of  a  man  who  can  not  resist  the  miser 
able  temptation  of  the  bottle.  I  arn  sorry  to  part  with  you, 
r.illou;  no  one  better  knows  your  ability  than  I  do;  — and  I 
know  you  to  be  a  true  friend  of  your  country  ; — more,  sir,  I 
have  loved  you  as  one  associated  with  all  my  childish  sports 
*jjd  exei*cisca  ,  bu;  we  nmst  part.  You  ca"  take  service  in  the 


SCOUT   AGAINST   SCOUT  —  TAKING   TRAIL.  245 

tffiga  le,  as  scout  or  soldier,  but  I  can  give  you  no  more  sr  ecial 
trusts." 

"  Oh  !  Willie  Sinclair  !     Are  you  serious  now  ?"  and  th*  fel- 
ow's  voice  trembled. 

"  I  am,  Ballou  —  as  serious  as  I  ever  was  in  all  my  life.  Sc- 
1-ious  and  sorry !  Sorry  to  lose  you  —  sorry  for  yourself.  Sorry 
that  one  of  our  best  scouts  should  be  lost  to  our  service,  where 
he  might  serve  us  best  if  he  would." 

The  tears  gushed  from  the  fellow's  eyes,  and  he  fell  upon 
his  knees  in  great  agitation.  His  voice  was  husky  with  emo 
tion,  as  he  cried  :  — 

"Pardon  me  this  once,  major  —  Willie  Sinclair  —  pardon  mo 
this  once,  and  I  will  swear.  Only  hear  me  swear  —  'Lord 
God  have  mercy  and  give  me  strength  as  I  swear  by  my  eternal 
safety,  never,  of  my  free  will,  to  taste  another  drop  of  the 
infernal  liquor  !' — There,  major — there  !" 

"  An  awful  oath,  Ballon.     Rise  up,  my  poor  fellow." 

"  It's  made,  Major  Willie.  It's  made.  Oh  !  Major  Willie, 
won't  you  trust  me  now  ?" 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  discourage  your  efforts  for  self-re 
covery.  I  will  trust  you,  Ballon  —  see  that  you  do  not  forget 
your  vow." 

"  God  help  and  strengthen  me  to  keep  it !  and  I  will  keep  it, 
Willie  Sinclair — as  a  man  that  calls  upon  God  to  look  and 
watch  his  proceedings.  I'm  a  man,  and  strong  enough  for  that, 
or  I'm  carrion,  and  only  fit  for  the  buzzards." 

"  It  is  a  solemn  covenant,  Ballou,  that  you  have  made  with 
God—" 

"  And  you  !  I  know  —  I  mean  it  to*  be  solemn  !  I  love  liquor, 
and  I've  been  easy  to  be  led  off  by  the  temptation.  But  I've 
sworn!  and  now,  major,  try  me.  Set  me  at  work  —  try  me 
with  a  hard  service ;  —  I  want  to  be  up  and  doing." 

"  Conquer  yourself,  Ballou,  and  I  will  take  you  to  my  heart 
for  ever.  You  are  a  noble  and  faithful  fellow,  and  only  free 
yourself  from  this  dangerous  habit,  and  you  are  worthy  of  anv 
man's  friendship.  Rise,  my  friend,  rise.  Believe  me,  I  felt  as 
much  pain  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  you,  as  I  ever  felt  or 
any  occasion  in  iny  life." 


246  THE    FORAYERS. 

The  fellow  rose  from  the  floor,  brushed  the  tears  hastily  from 
his  eyes,  and  sobbed  : — 

"  Try  me  again,  major  —  try  me,  Willie  Sinclair  —  and  le' 
me  make  myself  respectable  again.  I  want  to  be  at  work  !" 

"  You  must  go  now,  Ballou,  and  snatch  a  few  hours  of  sleep 
Rest  yourself  at  all  events,  as  well  as  you  can.  With  the  morn 
ing  you  shall  have  work — the  very  sort  that  you  require." 

"  What  is  it,  major  ]  Teli  me  now  that  I  may  think  over  it 
to-night.  I  do  all  my  thinking  at  night  when  I'm  a-bed  —  I 
lo." 

"It  is  to  take  the  trail  of  Devil  Dick,  and  his  companions 
the  Trailer  and  the  Serpent.  They  are,  no  doubt,  all  herded 
together  in  the  Santee  swamp  ;  and  too  near  us  to  suffer  us  to 
sleep  quietly.  Our  dragoons  may  rout  them  out  to-morrow, 
as  they  have  work  to  do  in  that  quarter — in  the  very  neigh 
borhood,  probably,  where  they  all  harbor.  Our  men  will  hardly 
find  them,  as  they  will  have  something  better  to  do  than  to  seek 
them.  They  will  skulk  rather  than  fly,  for  I  feel  sure  that  their 
aim  is  the  sacking  of  the  Barony.  They  know  the  range  as 
well  as  you  and  I,  and  will  hang  about  us,  and  lie  snug  till  we 
are  off.  Then  they  will  probably  up  and  follow  ;  take  the  road 
after  us,  or  make  a  second  attempt  on  the  Barony.  Now,  do 
you  see  what  is  the  work  which  you  might  make  profitable  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do  !     I  do  !" 

"  We  must  try  and  cut  off  these  rascals,  if  we  can  do  so  with 
out  turning  directly  upon  them.  It  is  the  work  of  a  scout, 
rather  than  of  a  regiment.  But  it  is  not  so  essential  to  cut  them 
off,  as  to  cover  ourselves.  Ballou,  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  your 
honor  and  fidelity,  much  more  than  I  can  your  strength  and 
sobriety.  I  wish  you  to  cover  me.  To-morro\v,  I  separate 
from  the  dragoons.  I  go  alone,  in  disguise,  within  the  pre 
cincts  of  an  enemy's  post." 

"  You're  not  going  to  Orangeburg,  major,  are  you  ?" 

"I  am  —  there  and  the  neighborhood." 

"  Do  you  know  that  Iriglehardt  is  certainly  there ;  and  he  is 
about  as  cold,  as  cunning,  and  as  venomous  as  a  snake  in  Au 
gust/'  • 

"  -t  know  all  that !  Know  him  well.  But  is  his  command 
there  ?" 


SCOUT   AGAINST   SCOUT — TAKING   TRAIL. 

"  That  I  don't  learn.  But  lie  was  seen  there  only  three  days 
ago." 

"  But  his  mere  presence  does  not  make  the  place  a  British 
post." 

"  No,  sir ;  but  it  is  pretty  much  under  British  influence." 

"  I  know  that  too ;  know  exactly  what  I  have  to  fear,  and 
upon  whom  I  may  rely ;  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you 
are  right  when  you  report  Inglehardt  to  be  there  or  in  the 
neighborhood.  But  the  visit  must  be  made.  I  have  much  to 
d^  there,  and  must  see  the  commissary  Travis." 

«  Don't  trust  liitn,  major.  Didn't  'Bram  tell  you  ]  He's  an 
other  snake  —  a  snake  !" 

"  I  know  more  than  'Bram  does,  and  I  know  Travis.  Enough  S 
The  matter  that  I  wish  you  to  see  to  is  this : — these  outlaws 
are,  no  doubt,  so  harbored  in  the  swamp  that,  as  we  can  not 
je-ek  for  and  push  them,  they  will  be  able  to  see  all  our  opera- 
ti^»-  Now,  I  must  separate  from  the  dragoons.  These  out 
laws  may  uCt?ct  the  movement  or  not.  If  they  do,  seeing  me 
alone,  and  in  disguise,  they  will  be  apt  to  follow,  just  as  the  dogs 
take  after  the  wounded  buck,  letting  the  herd  run  as  they  please. 
1  shall  have  the  start  of  them,  but  as  I  shall  ride  at  my  leisure, 
and  have  occasion  to  stop  here  and  there,  they  can  readily  over 
haul  me,  and  my  notion  is — " 

"  Ah  !  I  see,  sir, —  you  ^yish  me  to  take  your  trail  also — your 
trail  ?" 

"  Exactly  !  'Bram  will  have  a  similar  duty  ;  both  of  you  will 
be  armed.  Where  one  fails  to  make  a  point,  the  other  may  be 
more  successful ;  you  can  operate  together,  and  both  with  me, 
in  any  event  which  needs  our  united  strength ;  and  finally 
after  you  have  safely  covered  me  to  Orangeburg,  you  will  g^t 
a  dug-out,  and  keep  it  hidden  in  the  river  swamp  just  below  the 
landing  at  Holly-Dale." 

"  Travis's  place,  in  the  Fork  ?" 

"  Yes  ! — Now,  Jim  Ballou,  you  see  the  duty  that  requires  to 
be  done,  and  can  readily  determine  for  yourself  how  it  should 
be  done.  I  can  teach  you  nothing  as  a  scout.  Bram  is  also 
good  at  the  business.  Have  an  understanding  vith  him  to 
night,  but,  of  course,  you  will  work  on  separate  tracks.  Prescribe 
your  plan,  and  he  will  follow  it.  I  leave  the  procedure  wholly  to 


248  THE    FORAYERS. 

your  discretion,  having  shown  you  what  is  to  be  feared  an<J 
from  whom.  I  must  say  to  you,  however,  that  'Hell-fire  Dick 
lias  got  an  increase  of  force,  and  may  now  number  four  or  five, 
instead  of  two  or  three.  But  these  fellows  rarely  keep  all  togeth 
er,  long.  The  division  of  the  plunder  commonly  scatters  them, 
Remember,  however,  should  you  succeed  in  surprising  their, 
and  destroying  them,  of  course,  you  are  still  to  pursue  my  track. 
There  may  be  many  such  parties  on  the  route,  and  I  shall  want 
you  above.  One  of  my  scouts  reports  a  small  gang  of  seven, 
led  by  Cooper,  the  fellow  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  1^41 
for  dead  by  our  Travis  and  Duesto,  yet  goi>  off  to  the  enemy 
though  handcuffed  to  a  dead  man." 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  Pendarvis  was  killed  outright.  I  re 
member  all  about  it  —  all !  —  and  a  bolder  and  blacker  villain  than 
Cooper  don't  trouble  the  country  —  Don't!" 

"  He  has  been  seen  within  eight  days  again  upon  the  Belle 
ville  road,  as  leader  of  a  party  of  six.  He  had  with  him  two 
of  the  Claytons  of  St.  Mathew's — a  little  red-headed  fellow, 
named  Jones,  and  one  Paul  Sturner.  A  week  before  that  his 
party  was  twice  the  number,  and  he  was  nearly  run  down  by 
Captain  Rumph's  squad.  Lieutenant  Wannamaker  Avas  so 
close  as  to  make  a  cut  at  him  and  wound  the  quarters  of  his 
horse.  But  he  got  off  with  the  loss  of  two  of  his  party,  who 
were  cwt  down  by  the  troopers.  He  is  a  scoundrel  of  wonderful 
energies  and  endurance,  and  I  have  reason  to  think  would  be 
especially  pleased  to  find  me  in  his  meshes.  At  all  events,  there 
will  be  enough  to  tax  all  your  vigilance,  even  if  you  succeed  in 
throwing  out  or  destroying  this  Hell-fire  Dick  and  his  party. 
Am  I  fully  understood,  Ballon  ?" 

"  Yes,  Major  Willie — and  you  will  fully  trust  me  ]     You  will !" 

"  I  will !  Bring  up  'Bram  that  I  may  give  him  his  lesson  in 
your  presence." 

We  need  not  pursue  this  conference  further.  Enough  that 
all  the  parties  received  their  instructions,  and  retired  for  the 
night,  At  dawn,  the  grounds  were  empty  —  Willie  Sinclair 
Peyre  St.  Julien,  the  dragoons  —  all  were  gone  ;  but  the  wake 
ful  eyes  of  Carrie  Sinclair  had  witnessed  their  departure,  and 
her  waving  hands  and  murmured  prayer  had  blessed  theii 
progress. 


SCOUT    AGAINST   SCOUT — TAKING   TRAIL.  249 

What  was  that  progress  ?  We  must  report  it  briefly.  Tt  was 
to  carry  off  all  the  cattle,  stock  of  every  kind,  grain  ana  forage, 
that  could  be  gleaned  from  the  plantations  along  the  iSantec  in 
this  particular  precinct.  The  boats  of  Marion  were  waiting — 
£om  morning  to  night  the  dragoons  were  busy  ;  and  corn  and 
fodder,  and  cattle,  which  had  been  hitherto  left  to  the  doubtful 
charge  of  Master  Pete  Blodgit,  were  withdrawn  from  his  to  a 
safer  keeping.  Blodgit,  himself,  kept  out  of  the  way  in  the 
woods,  while  Sinclair  and  the  dragoons  were  on  the  place.  He 
had  found  a  hiding-place  with  the  outlaws,  leav'*ig  his  mother 
to  propitiate  the  anger  of  their  late  patron,  fi&e  whined  at 
him  for  pity,  and  his  mercy  allowed  her  'jo  remain  in  the  cot 
tage,  the  shelter  of  which  her  criminal  hypocrisy  had  so  com 
pletely  forfeited.  It  was  at  sunset,  and  when  the  day's  work 
was  nearly  done,  that  Sinclair  and  St.  Julien  met  in  conference. 
A  harsher  duty  awaited  the  latter  and  found  him  reluctant. 

"  You  are  now,  Peyre,  to  carry  off  all  the  stock,  except  brood- 
hogs,  and  cows  with  calves,  from  the  Sinclair  Barony." 

"  How,  Willie,  can  I  do  that  ?" 

"  It  must  be  done,  Peyre  ;  you  can  not  distinguish  between 
whigs  and  loyalists,  and  favor  the  latter.  It  must  be  done. 
We  must  leave  neither  hair  nor  hide  to  the  enemy.  But  you 
need  not  be  seen  in  the  business.  I  have  prepared  Benny 
Bowlegs,  the  driver,  for  what  he  has  to  expect  and  to  do,  and 
he  is  ready  to  father  the  offence  upon  the  tories.  You  will, 
however,  give  him  an  acknowledgment  of  what  you  take,  and 
he  will  convey  it  to  my  sister.  Your  paper  will  establish  a 
claim  upon  government,  should  it  ever  reach  security  and  per 
manence.  One  more  matter.  I  fear  for  the  safety  of  the 
Barony.  You  will  leave  a  corporal's  guard  on  the  place  — 
known  only  to  Benny  —  in  close  shelter  in  the  swamp.  He 
will  provision  it.  Instruct  your  officer  to  be  ready  at  call,  to 
defend  or  protect  the  family  from  these  marauders.  They  will 
hardly  need  to  stay  a  week.  With  the  rest  of  your  command, 
this  duty  done  —  and  that  should  be  in  two  days  more  —  then, 
giving  a  wide  berth  to  Orangeburg,  sweep  up  by  Rumph's  at 
Turkey  hil  ,  and  cross  the  North  Kdisto  at  Shilling's  ;  put  your 
self  in  the  thickets  by  Bull-fight  pond,  and  wait  my  message, 
either  by  Ballon  ©r  'Brain.  Of  course,  you  will  have  your  scout* 


250  THE   FORAYERS. 


and  watchful,  down  even  to  the  bridge  at  Orangeburg 
It  te  possible  that  I  may  have  some  trouble,  as  I  have  certain!} 
some  risks  at  Orangeburg  and  the  neighborhood,  for  ray  time 
will  be  divided  between  Travis's  plantation  and  tut  village 
Above  all,  have  two  or  three  expert  fellows  for  ever  with  an  eye 
on  Travis's.  If  Inglehardt  be  about,  the  utmost  vigilance  is 
necessary." 

Fully  understanding  each  other,  the  major  parted  with 
his  frip'"i  at  nightfall.  He  went  alone,  still  in  the  disguise  of 
a  back  >/oodsman,  and  with  hair  and  beard  not  his  own.  His 
pistols  were  a/-  hand,  and  he  were  a  plain  basket-hilted  cut-and- 
thrust  at  his  side  —  a  weapon  in  the  use  of  which  he  excelled 
—  having  taken  lessons  from  the  Italian,  Baldachezzo,  who,  a 
little  while  before  the  war,  had  been  a  famous  teacher  of  the 
young  gentry  of  the  Oarolinas.  Sinclair  sped  away  with  confi 
dence  and  -vith  seeming  security  ;  and  so,  at  the  same  time,  did 
St.  Julien  with  his  troop,  pushing  down  to  the  river  some  six 
miles  off,  where  one  party  crossed  with  the  boats  and  forage,  and 
the  other  bivouacked  in  the  swamp. 

Night  had  fallen.  The  woods  were  silent.  For  three  miles 
from  the  cottage  of  Blodgit,  on  either  hand,  they  showed  no 
signs  of  life  for  several  hours.  But  there  was  life,  nevertheless 
human  life,  wakeful,  watchful,  and  close  harboring  within  Vnc 
immediate  precincts  of  the  cottage.  Blodgit,  we  may  mention. 
had  not  shown  himself  to  any  one  of  the  foragers;  and,  this. 
perhaps,  had  tended  somewhat  to  make  his  mother's  plea  to  Sin 
clair  successful.  He  had  left  the  Barony  with  the  full  purpose 
of  expelling  the  wretched  old  woman,  taking  from  her  the  ne 
gro-girl  whom  his  sister  had  lent  her,  and  burning  the  hovel  to 
the  ground.  But  he  had  relented  in  his  sterner  purpose,  as 
he  beheld  the  miserable  condition  of  the  beldam.  Her  real 
poverty  and  wretchedness  saved  her  from  the  proper  punish 
ment  of  her  guilt.  He  gave  her  fifty  bushels  of  corn  for  her 
own  support,  leaving  it  to  her  son,  who  had  the  fruitful  abilities 
of  the  rogue,  to  provide  her  with  the  bacon  which  he  knew  lie 
could  always  find.  He  left  nothing  for  him,  and  unless  he  used 
the  corn  allotted  for  his  mother,  there  was  no  provision  made 
for  his  own  horse  or  any  other. 

But  after  a  few  hours  had  elapsed  from  the  departure  of  tlie 


SCOUT   AGAINST   SCOUT  —  TAKING    TRAIL.  2o| 

troopers  the  senses  of  both  Ballon  and  'Bram,  closely  harbored 
in  concealing  thickets,  though  apart,  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  the  cottage,  were  saluted  with  the  faint  blasts  of  a  common 
horn.  They  pricked  up  their  ears  as  they  heard,  and  each 
prepared  after  the  manner  of  the  scout,  to  make  himsel/ 
Acquainted  with  the  source  of  signal.  Ballou  was  now  on  his 
good  behavior.  A  double  duty  was  in  fact  before  him.  H# 
was  to  approve  himself  capable  of  abstinence,  a  virtue  which 
he  had  r  ot  before  affected ;  and  to  exercise  his  best  scouting  ca 
pacities,  for  which  his  credit  was  already  great.  Except  Jack 
Bannistt  r  of  the  Congarees,  a  noble  yeoman  of  the  whig  side, 
and  one  Watson  Gray,  a  tory,  Jim  Ballou  was  the  most  famous 
scout  of  all  the  Santee  region.  That  any  exception  could  be 
made,  in  conferring  this  rank  upon  him,  had  been  due  to  his 
former  sottishness.  He  was  now  to  recover  ground,  and  reas 
sert  his  superior  merits.  He  determined,  accordingly,  to  em 
ploy  all  his  energies,  and  not  mistake  a  single  point  in  the  game. 
The  first  step,  he  felt  when  he  heard  the  horn  and  the  replies 
to  it,  which  followed  shortly  after,  had  been  successfully  taken. 
All  the  sounds  that  reached  him  were  from  below  —  none  were 
from  the  rear  —  no  enemy  lay  behind  him,  and  he  could  thus 
advance  in  security.  To  feel  Ids  way  safely  forward,  is  the 
great  necessity  for  a  scout.  This  he  can  only  do  when  assured 
that  he  is  not  followed.  His  game  is  to  take  the  trail  after  oth 
ers ;  and,  lying  perdu,  Ballou  waited  for  other  signals. 

These  were  soon  repeated,  and  this  time  from  the  direction 
of  Blodgit's  cottage.  They  were  answered  more  distinctly  from 
below  —  three  several  blasts.  Between  the  woods  which  he  and 
'Bram  occupied,  and  those  whence  the  signals  came,  there  ran 
a  broad  wagon-trace  down  to  the  river's  landing.  This  trace 
intersected  the  main  road  within  a  few  yards  of  the  spot  where 
Jie  cottage  stood.  A  third  blast,  more  li  ely  and  thrice  repeated, 
from  this  latter  precinct,  called  for  furtl  er  replies,  which  Ballou 
-vas  pleased  to  perceive  were  much  nearer  at  hand.  He  felt 
that  he  should  soon  be  enabled  to  pick  his  way  out,  and,  per 
haps,  be  permitted  to  see,  himself  unseen,  the  parties  who  found 
it  thus  necessary  to  commune  together.  Let  us  approach  the 
place  of  meeting  also. 

Among  the  oaks  directly  in  front  of  his  cottage,  stood  Pete 


UOZ  THE    FGRAYEKS. 

Blodgit,  waiting  for  the  outlaws  whom  he  had  summoned.  They 
had  helped  to  ruin  him;  he  owed  them  no  love;  but  he  was  a 
wretched  dependant  upon  others  for  protection,  and  he  had  cut 
himself  off  from  better  associates.  With  the  exception  of  the 
small  amount  in  Spanish  milled  dollars,  which  he  had  succeeded 
in  withholding  from  WLUie  Sinclair,  at  their  late  settlement, 
and  which  his  mother  held  with  the  tenacious  fingers  of  avaric®, 
he  had  not  a  single  sixpence.  The  means  of  farther  gains, 
from  the  same  source,  had  been  swept  away  that  day  by  the 
foragers  —  he  had  seen  the  whole  procedure  from  a  familiar 
place  of  concealment ;  and  Dick  of  Tophet,  his  ally,  had  torn 
away  his  horse  with  violence.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  love 
those  who  had  thus  caused  him  to  lose,  and  had  besides  robbed 
him ;  but  he  had  no  alternative.  Cut  off  from  the  succor  of 
the  good,  the  weak  who  are  also  vicious  have  no  refuge  but  with 
the  wicked !  The  milk  of  Blodgit's  bosom  was  soured  and  em 
bittered  ;  but  his  blood  was  too  feeble  in  its  rush  to  suffer  him 
to  show  the  hate  and  vexation  which  he  felt.  He  had — to  use 
his  own  expressive  phraseology  —  "to  grin  and  bear  it!" 

He  was  not  long  alone,  being  soon  joined  by  the  Trailer, 
Ralph  Branson.  His  nom  de  guerre,  we  may  remark,  was  due 
also  to  his  good  reputation  as  a  scout.  He  was  considered  a 
sure  trailer,  though  held  to  be  somewhat  slow.  The  qualities 
ot  men  and  dogs  are  graduated  and  qualified  in  like  manner. 
The  Trailer  came  on  foot,  as  did  the  others  subsequently. 
They  had  hidden  their  horses  in  the  woods. 

-"  Nobody  yit  up  but  me,  Pete  ?" 

"  You're  the  first.  But  I  reckon  it's  the  Sarpent  that  will  be 
next.  He  was  more  up  upon  the  hill.  The  farthest  horn  must 
ha'  been  Devil  Dick's." 

"  Yes,  and  he'll  git  here  slow ;  for  his  scalds  ain't  any  the 
better  for  his  hard  run  to-day." 

"  I'm  afear'd  he's  a'most  knocked  up  my  critter." 

"Well,  you  needn't  care  about  that,  sence  thyars  no  chaince 
that  you'll  ever  git  her  agin,  onless  Dick  happens  to  see  that 
he  kin  cross  a  better.  He  won't  keep  your'n  a  bit  longer  than 
that" 

"  It's  mighty  hard  that  I  should  lose  my  critter,  and  me  a 
lame  pusson  too.' 


SCOUT   AGAINST   SCOUT  —  TAKING    TRAIL  252 

"Oh!  Lord,  ef  that  was  the  only  hardship  flint  one,  had  tc 
grin  under,  the  world  would  be  a  comfortable  one  enough  for  a 
poor  man.  But  I  reckon  Sinclair's  carried  cff  cverj -.'.hin^  frory 
you;  I  cotched  a  sight  or  two  of  the  transaction  tha*  made  me 
jubous  that  you'd  have  nothing  left  better  thai?  acorns  anrl  mne- 
t.ops  for  man  and  beast." 

"And  you're  right!  He's  swept  <ff  corn  and  fodder  nogR 
.'in.l  cattle,  everything  lie  could  carry,  and  whar  the  bread  and 
meat  is  to  come  from  the  Lord  only  kin  tell." 

"  It's  mighty  hard  and  cruel  that  a  poor  man  should  ne 
robbed  of  all  h-is  airnings  and  support." 

"  And  he  a  lame  pusson  too,  and  with  a  poor  old  sick  moth 
er,  with  the  rheurnatiz  so  bad  that  it  would  be  a  God's  marcy 
ef  she  was  safe  in  tiie  ground." 

"  Yes,  it's  mighty  hard,  Pete.  A  poor  man  has  no  chaince 
with  these  rich  harrystocrats,  as  Devil  Dick  calls  'cm." 

And  the  two  very  soon  succeeded  in  persuading  themselves 
and  one  another,  that  the  whole  world  was  leagued  in  the  cruel 
purpose  to  destroy  them  and  starve  them  out,  and  rob  them  of 
their  rights  and  all  the  bounties  of  earth  and  heaven.  It  is  cu 
rious  with  what  grateful  logic  the  scoundrel  will  convince  him 
self  that  he  is  a  victim  to  the  grossest  wrongs  on  the  part  of  the 
villanously  virtuous.  But  the  dialogue  was  at  I'engtli  arrested 
by  the  arrival  of  Brydone  "  the  Serpent,"  and,  after  a  while, 
Devil  Dick  himself  appeared,  accompanied  by  Jack  Halliday, 
who  was  slightly  wounded. 

"  Let's  get  in  to  your  hole,  Pete  Blodgit,"  cried  Dick  of  To- 
phet.  "I'm  a  wanting  help  from  the  hands  of  your  blessed 
mammy,  who  loves  me  as  the  devil  loves  the  angel  Gabriel. 
My  bark  is  all  in  a  blister  ;  and  my  ankles  and  wrists  in  a  blaze. 
Lord  !  I  could  have  wished  almost  that  I  had  been  hung  up 
sooner  than  suffer  from  this  fire  all  over.  Come,  open,  Pete;  I 
must  git  some  salves  and  'intments  on  my  back,  and  I  must 
have  a  shirt  and  jacket." 

Dick  ruled,  and  they  entered  the  house  together.  They 
found  Mother  Blodgit,  by  the  fire,  rocking  to  and  fro  sulkily, 
and  pomewhat  in  the  way.  She  was  evidently  not  pleased  with 
the  turn  which  atfairs  had  taken,  though  as  yet  she  did  not 
know  the  worst.  Her  little  negro  had  reported  the  removal  by 


THE   FORAYERS. 

the  dragoons,  of  all  the  corn,  fodder,  and  stock.  She  had  heard, 
too,  a.  sharp  and  stern  lesson  from  the  lips  of  Sinclair,  to  which 
she.  could  oppose  no  answer ;  and  he  had  forborne  to  tell  her  all  he 
knew.  He  had,  however,  shown  her  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
Spanish  dollars  in  her  possession,  but  had  concluded  by  bestow 
ing  tnem  upon  her  ; — a  degree  of  generosity  for  which  she  pro 
fessed  herself  thankful,  though  she  cursed  him  in  her  heart 
wh;le  speaking.  The  poor,  when  vicious,  are  usually  ungrate 
ful  ;  and  a  single  boon  withheld  makes  them  forgetful  of  the 
thousand  favors  which  have  been  previously  bestowed  upon 
them.  But,  as  yet,  she  did  not  know  that  her  son  was  horse 
less —  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  his  beast  by  the  very  out 
law  who  had  helped  to  ruin  him,  and  for  whom  he  had  done 
and  sacrificed  so  much.  Had  she  known,  she  would  scarcely 
have  found  the  desired  ointments  for  the  scorched  back  of  Devil 
Dick  —  would  scarcely  have  suffered  her  son  to  bestow  upon 
the  ruffian  one  of  his  best  shirts  and  jackets.  As  it  was,  she 
suffered  these  sacrifices  unwillingly  ;  and  brought  forth  her  oils 
and  ointments,  without  blessing  or  consecrating  them  lovingly 
to  the  work  of  healing.  We  need  not  detail  the  processes  by 
which  Dick  of  Tophet  was  rendered  easier  in  the  flesh,  and 
habited  anew  in  comfortable  garments.  The  service  was  ren 
dered  after  a  fashion ;  and,  cursing  and  crying  alternately,  as 
Ehe  saw  the  jug  of  Jamaica  brought  out  from  its  covert,  the  old 
woman  withdrew  to  her  chamber,  whence  her  grunts  arose 
occasionally  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  conversation,  which 
took  place  among  the  outlaws. 

Once  more  at  ease,  unpursued,  and  with  strong  drink  before 
them,  the  goodly  company  began  to  go  over  the  proceedings  of 
the  day.  We,  who  know  pretty  much  what  these  were,  need 
not  follow  them  in  their  commentary.  We  shall  only  note  such 
portions  of  their  dialogue  as  may  be  suggestive  of  the  clues 
to  such  portions  of  this  true  history  as  are  not  yet  in  our 
hands. 

"  Well,  they've  carried  off  all  your  corn  and  fodder,  hogs  and 
cattle,  Pete,  and  by  this  time  they  have  'em  all  across  the  river. 
The  Sarpent  tells  me  that  Stuttering  Pete*  [HorryJ  has  been 
doing  the  same  business  below,  as  fur  down  as  Nelson's.  Now 
the  questioi  is,  what  does  this  mean  '{  To  my  thinking  ir  means 


SCOUT  AGAINST  SCOUT  — TAKING  TEAIL.  255 

that  we're  to  have  both  armies  down  upon  us  in    mighty  little 
time." 

"  You  think  so,  Dick  ?  " 

"I'm  pretty  sure  of  it.  But  I  don't  see  what  we're  to  lose 
by  that,  for  there's  always  good  pickings  about  the  country 
when  the  armies  are  a-coming  together.  Thar's  always  so 
many  rich  folks  flying  with  their  families,  and  leaving  every 
thing  behind  them.  Now,  I'rL  jest  a-waiting  to  see  old  Sin 
clair  drivin'  off  from  that  Bairony.  He'll  not  be  able  to  carry 
off  everything,  not  by  hafe,  and  ef  I  don't  gut  it,  and  gut  him 
too,  and  his  d  — d  eternal  son,  the  major,  at  the  first  chaince, 
then  there's  no  sense  in  calling  me  'Hell-fire  Dick'  any 
longer." 

"Well,  how  are  we  to  do  now  ?  " 

"Thar's  nothing  to  be  done,  jest  now,  while  Willie  Sinclair's 
down  at  the  Bairony,  and  with  such  a  lot  of  dragoons." 

"But  them  dragoons,  I  reckon,  will  cross  the  river,  as  soon 
as  they've  swept  the  plantations  on  this  side.  They're  pretty 
quick  at  the  work,  and  clean  out  a  farm  in  mighty  short 
order.  'Twont  be  two  days,  I  reckon,  before  they'll  finish  that 
job." 

"Air  we  safe  hyar  now,  where  we  air  ? "  said  Dick. 

"I  reckon,"  said  the  Trailer.  "I  trailed  St.  Julien  and  his 
dragoons  down  to  the  river.  They've  got  off  hafe  of  them,  and 
t'other  hafe  has  fires  lighted,  and  are  camped  for  the  night. 
Some  of  them  air  in  the  boats.  They're  now  a  good  six  miles 
off,  and  mighty  tired.  But,  look  you,  Willie  Sinclair  ain't  with 
the  dragoons." 

"How!  not  with  the  dragoons?  Why,  how's  that,  when 
he's  been  with  'em  all  day,  directing  and  giving  orders,  and 
pushing  after  men  and  boats,  and  working  jest  as  hard  as 
any." 

"I  know  that;  but  he  worn't  with  them  when  the  dragoons 
marched  down  to  the  river,  at  sunset.  I  was  in  a  '  harricane  thick,' 
on  the  butt  eend  of  an  almighty  big  tree,  and  safe  kivered,  and  I 
could  see  every  man  as  he  filed  down  across  the  sandy  run.  Willie 
Sinclair  worn't  with  'em,  I  tell  you." 

"  Then  he's  gone  back  to  the  Bairony  !  I  wonder  ef  he  took  any 
of  the  dragoons  with  him  ? " 


256  THE   FOBAYERS. 

"I  reckon  not!  I  didn't  count  'em,  but  I  didn't  miss  any.  Ef 
he  took  any,  it  couldn't  be  more  than  two  or  three.  But  I  don't 
think  he  took  any." 

"  Ef  so,  now  would  be  the  time  to  make  a  dash  at  the  Bairony. 
They  wouldn't  look  for  us  to-night." 

"No?  But  after  the  work  we've  had,  which  of  us  is  good  for 
anything  like  a  dash." 

"Ah !  Ef  'tworn't  for  this  cussed  scalding  that  I've  got," 
groaned  Dick  of  Tophet,  writhing  in  his  seat,  "  I'd  show  you  how 
to  make  a  dash.  But  you're  right.  Nothing's  to  be  done  to-night. 
We  must  git  some  sleep  and  some  strength ;  and  first  for  the  strength, 
Blodgit,  we  must  get  some  supper." 

"I  don't  knowwhar  you're  to  git  it.  I  reckon  thar's  nothing 
better  than  dry  meal  in  the  house." 

"  Find  something  better,  Pete,  or  we'll  make  a  meal  of  you.  Be 
stirring.  I'm  a  famishing  varmint." 

Dick  of  Tophet  was  a  person  with  whom  Blodgit  did  not  dare  to 
trifle,  and  he  proceeded  in  the  search  for  something  which  would 
pacify  the  "varmint."  At  that  moment  the  sounds  of  a  horse's 
tread,  at  full  gallop,  were  heard.  It  startled  other  ears  than  those  of 
the  outlaws,  and  Ballou  and  'Brain,  our  two  scouts,  who  had  been 
peering  with  all  their  eyes  through  the  logs  of  the  cottage,  were  fain 
to  steal  off  silently  into  the  bushes,  which  they  did  in  safety.  A 
few  moments  after,  the  horseman  thundered  at  the  door.  To  the 
demand  "Who's  that  ?  "  the  answer  was  prompt  — "  Eyes  right !  "- 
a  pass-phrase  evidently  which  had  been  previously  agreed  on.  "  It 
is  Ben  Nelson,"  said  the  Trailer,  and  the  door  was  opened  to  the 
newcomer. 

"Well,  whar  have  you  been,  all  this  time  I  wonder  !  We  had 
a'most  'gin  you  up  for  lost." 

"I  wasn't  lost,  but  took  the  road,  which  was  pretty  nigh  to  me, 
when  the  dragoons  made  the  dash." 

The  account  of  the  fellow,  explaining  his  escape,  was  a  confused 
one.  It  was  felt  to  be  so  by  the  party. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Devil  Dick,  "you  got  scared  a  little  sooner, 
Ben  Nelson,  than  anybody  else.     But  the  scare  seems  to  have  helped 
you  to  a  safe  road.     What  hev  you  to  report  ?  " 
"  Why,  nothing  much." 
"Whar  did  you  hide?" 


ttCOUT    AGAINST   SCOTT?  —  TAKING   TRAIL.  257 

*  itross  the  road,  \u  a  thick  bay  a  leetle  this  side  of  the  day 
rfTL" 

"  I  know  the  place.' 

•'I  fastened  tlie  horse  in  tli.e  hollow,  am?  t'reeped  out  to  the 
roadside  when  the  sun  was  a-setting;  but  nt. thing  was  io  be  see' 
except  Dne  man  in  a  common  homespun  hunting-si  irt.  He  rode 
by,  and  he  had  an  uncommon  fine  beast." 

"  Ha  !  what  sort  of  beast  ?" 

"Powerful,  strong,  and  big,  a  most  glorious  black,  black 
without  a  spot." 

"  Yes,  a  blaze  on  his  right  shoulder." 

"  Mout  be  !  I  couldn't  sec  on  that  side,  he  guine  up,  and  I 
on  the  left  side  of  the  road." 

"  It  is  Willie  Sinclair,  by  the  powers,  and  he  goes  alone  1 
He's  for  the  Bairony,  or  further  on.  We  must  see  in  the  morn 
ing.  I'm  the  man  to  take  that  scent !  Now.  look  you,  boys, 
here's  the  way  the  cat  must  jump.  We  must  gut  that  Bairony. 
Now's  the  time,  I  reckon,  when  these  fellows  of  St.  Julien  are 
crossing  to  t'other  side,  and  before  the  two  armies  gits  down.  It's 
a  bad  sign  for  us,  I'm  a  thinking,  them  two  armies  coming  down 
It's  a  sign  that  Lord  Rawdon  ain't  able  to  hold  his  hand  with 
Greene.  We  must  be  making  our  market  while  we  kin.  I'rn 
for  gutting  that  Bairony  ;  but  I'm  for  taking  the  trail  of  Willie 
Sinclair  at  all  resks.  I  owe  him  a  knife,"  and  Dick  of  Tophet 
displayed  the  carving-knife  which  he  had  caught  up  in  his  mo 
ment  of  flight.  "  Two  or  three  of  you,  must  scout  day  and  night 
about  the  Bairony  till  you  find  the  const  is  clear  —  then  put  in 
and  pull  out.  We'll  be  ready,  I  reckon,  when  the  time  comes. 
You,  '  Skin- the- Serpent,'  with  Jack  Halliday  and  Ben  Nelson 
can  take  this  business  on  your  shoulders.  The  '  Trailer'  and 
me  will  take  after  Willie  Sinclair.  I  kin  guess  jist  wbar  he's  a 
guine.  He's  guine  to  sneak  after  old  Travis's  da'ter  at  Holly- 
Daie.  He's  been  after  her  before.  Ef  't  ain't  for  that,  wh?t 
would  he  be  in  a  disguise  about  ? — in  a  homespun  split  shirt, 
and  not  in  his  uniform ;  and  then  witK  his  great  beard  and 
whiskers  which  don't  belong  to  his  face  at  all.  He's  after  that 
£al,  mark  what  I'm  a-saying." 

"  But  what's  it  to  u*  ef  he  is  ?  What  kin  wo  git  by  taking 
krail  of  him  ?" 


'•>  THE   FORATER3. 

-v 

"I  kill  git  my  r°vei-ge  out  of  his  heart's  blood  !"  a 
D:ck  of  Tophet  fiercely;  "but  something  more.  Vt  hat's  IK? 
done  with  them  hundred  guineas  that  he  tuk  from  poor  j.'et-? 
Blodgit  1  I  reckon  he's  got  hafe  of  'em  in  his  belt,  and  to'ther 
hafe  he's  left  at  the  Bairony.  So,  you  see,  ef  we  plays  out 
trumps,  wo  stands  a  chaince,  all  of  us,  of  picking  up  gouldcn 
stakes.'' 

Dick  tiie  Devil,  was  apt  to  verify  his  proper  claim  to  the 
title,  by  finally  forcing  his  own  will  upon  those  with  whom  he 
associated.  It  was  settled  that,  with  the  dawn,  the  party  should 
••livide,  as  he  had  indicated.  The  proceedings  of  both  division* 
were  arranged  at  the  sitting.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  ears 
of  Ballon  and  'Bram,  drank  in  all  the  particulars  of  the  ar 
rangement,  since  the  outlaws,  apprehending  no  listeners,  spoke 
in  their  ordinary  tones  of  voice.  Our  scouts  listened  and  watched 
to  the  last  moment,  when,  after  supping,  and  repeatedly  drink 
ing,  tho  conspirators  stretched  themselves  out  upon  the  floor  : 
satisfied  that  they  were  in  no  danger  themselves,  and  with  their 
horses  hidden  in  the  thicket.  But  hours,  had  flitted  by  with 
noiseless  rapidity  before  this  was  the  case  —  the  night  wa« 
waning  toward  day  —  the  moon  was  down  —  the  stars  wheeling 
more  rapidly  from  sight.  The  cool  breezes  of  the  morning  wer-.i 
beginning  to  sough  and  swell  through  the  forest.  Ballou  and 
'Bram,  weary  with  the  protracted  watch  of  day  and  night,  turned 
away  from  the  hovel  and  slowly  passed  into  cover.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken  between  them  till  they  had  left  the  cottage  half  a 
mile  behind  them.  Then  Ballou  said  : — 

"  'Brain,  it's  mighty  hard  that  we  should  leave  those  scamp* 
to  a  quiet  sleep  ;  but  it's  too  late  now  to  get  down  to  the  dra 
goons  and  bring  any  of  them  up  ;  and  I  am  scarcely  able  to  lift 
one  leg  after  another — scarcely  —  one  after  another." 

"  An'  dis  nigger  ain't  able  to  lift  he  body  on  he  legs  !  I  mub* 
hab  res',  Jim  Ballou  —  I  mus'  hab  my  sleep." 

"It's  a  good  six  miles  to  the  river  —  then  we'd  have  to  huiii 
up  the  camp,  for  they  hide  close,  and  then  —  why  't  would  b»* 
broad  daylight  long  before  we  cculd  get  back  —  broad  daylight 
Bram,  one  good  common  sense  rule  for  a  good  scout  is  never  t«; 
break  down.  We  must  let  these  fellows  have  theii  chance  - 
lct  '(.'in  have  their  chance-" 


SCOUT  AGAINST    SCOUT  —  TAKING   TRAIL.  259 

"Da's  jest  wha' I  was  finking  — let  de  dibbil  liab  he  swing,  tell 
we  can  jest  put  out  ban'  and  grab  'em/' 

"  Ay,  till  we  can  make  him  swing  —  make  him  swing.  But  here 
I  lie  for  the  present.  Let's  have  your  bag,  'Brain,  and  see  if  we  can't 
eat  a  little  —  only  a  little.  That  ham  bone  has  something  on  it  still  — 
something  still ! " 

"  Mighty  close  de  knuckle,  I  tells  you,"  answered  'Bram,  bringing 
forth  the  remnants  from  their  dinner. 

'"Bram,"  said  Ballou,  eating  vigorously,  and  speaking  with  a 
mouth  full—  "4o-morrow,  by  peep  of  day,  you  must  go  down  to  the 
camp  and  let  Captain  St.  Julien  know  what  we  heard  about  the 
attack  on  the  Barony.  He  can  trap  those  three  fellows  if  he  pleases 
—  if  he  pleases  ;  —  and  he  does  please,  I'm  pretty  sure  !  Meanwhile, 
I'll  take  the  trail  after  Devil  Dick.  You  can  take  a  short  cut 
through  the  woods  and  join  me  above  ;  I'll  break  a  green  bush  and 
throw  it,  with  the  stem  down  the  road,  every  now  and  then,  so  that 
you'll  know  whether  I've  passed  or  not— passed  or  not  I  You 
hear  ? " 

"Iyer." 

"Very  good!  But  to-night  we  must  separate.  Your  horse 
is  already  in  the  right  place,  as  you're  to  canter  down  to  the 
river,  but  I  must  put  mine  on  t'other  side  of  the  main  road, 
above,  so  that  I  may  get  a  good  look  at  them  as  they  pass.  I'll 
hide  the  horse  deep,  so  that  they  can't  hear  him  whinny 
-whinny  — and  I'll  sleep  within  ear-shot  of  the  road  my 
self." 

"  But  lie  close,  Jim  Ballou." 

"To  be  sure  !  I  shan't  be  in  their  way,  and  that's  the  reason  I 
shall  cross  the  road  to-night.  If  I  were  to  hide  in  these  thickets, 
why,  they  might  cut  through  and  come  upon  me,  and  that  wouldn't 
be  so  pleasant  — not  so  pleasant,  'Bram." 

"  Mighty  onpleasant !  " 

"  'Bram  !    I've  sworn  a  most  stupendous  oath  ! " 

"  Ki !  wha'  for  you  do  sich  ting  ?  " 

"  Against  the  flesh  and  the  devil  'Bram.  I  had  to  swear  to  make 
myself  strong,  and  I'll  keep  that  oath,  too,  'Bram  — though  it's 
against  a  good  spirit.  Did  you  notice,  'Bram,  how  these  fellows 
swallowed  down  that  rum.  Do  you  think  they  relished  it  I  — 
relished  it,  'Braa>  9" 


260  THE   FORAYERS. 

"Don't  t'ink  'bout  it,  Ballou.  I  knows  dey  relishes  um  better 
dan  dey  own  souls." 

"I'm  afraid,  'Bram,  I  do  too.  I  wished  for  some  of  that 
Jamaica,  'Bram  —  wish  for  it  now.  But  I  wouldn't  touch  a  drop 
of  it,  'Bram,  to  save  you  from  the  gallows  —  from  the  gallows 
'Bram  ! " 

"  Ki  !  you  swear  'gin  de  rum,  Ballou  ! " 

"  As  if  were  the  devil  himself,  'Bram  !  " 

"  Nebber  git  me  to  swear  sich  foolish  oat'  as  dat.  Rum  is  good 
for  de  healt'  and  sperrit  ob  black  pusson." 

"  It  will  carry  you  to  hell,  'Bram." 

"  But  in  a  mos'  heabbenly  way,  Ballou." 

"Ah  !  don't  I  know  it,  and  isn't  that  the  devil's  secret,  'Bram  — 
the  very  devil's  secret  ?  But  we  must  part,  old  fellow  —  part.  You 
must  be  oil  at  day-peep.  Can  you  wake  ?  " 

"  Kin  wake  whenebber  I  please,  when  I  aint  been  'tosticated  de 
night  before." 

"  Ah  !  you  see  how  the  devil  works  through  rum.  But  I've 
sworn  against  it — sworn  —  it  is  an  oath,  'Bram.  And  I  swear  again. 
Be  a  witness.  Every  witness  I  have  helps  my  strength." 

And  he  knelt  upon  the  turf,  crossed  his  hands,  and  repeated  the 
oath  he  made  before  Sinclair. 

"Look  yer,  Mass  Jim  Ballou,  tek'  care  ob  you'se'f  now.  I  tell 
you,  man — dis  is  de  night-time,  pass  de  middle  o'  de  night  —  getting 
on  to  day  mighty  fast,  and  der's  anoder  one  a-hearing  you,  'sides 
'Bram." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  De  bressed  Lord  God,  dat's  jest  now  a-looking  out  'pon  we  two 
poor  sinners  from  Heabben." 

"  It  is  true  —  true  !  God  is  my  witaess  !  "  said  Ballou,  in  tones  as 
solemn  as  those  of  the  negro. 

"'Member  now,  man,"  said  'Bram  —  "'member  now!  —  ef  you 
breaks  dat  oat' ! " 

"  God  help  me  !  —  good  night,  'Bram." 


THE   SCE^E   CHANGES  —  KEW   PARTIES.  261 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

THE   SCENE    CHANGES  — NEW  PARTIES. 

WE  are  to  suppose,  for  the  present,  that  our  scouts,  on  both  sides, 
are  equally  prepared  and  willing  to  do  the  duties  agreed  upon  and 
assigned  them  ;  that  one  set  of  the  outlaws  are  to  haunt  the  Barony, 
and  watch  for  their  chance,  and  take  advantage  of  it ;  that  Dick  of 
Tophet,  with  the  Trailer,  his  associate,  is  to  "take the  road"  of  Sin 
clair  ;  and  that  these  latter,  in  return,  are  to  be  followed  by  Ballou 
and  'Brani,  watchful  of  their  chances  also,  and  specially  pledged  to 
see  that  their  superior  suffers  no  harm.  We  are  to  suppose,  farther, 
that,  for  the  performance  of  these  several  duties,  the  several  parties 
are  each  excellent  in  his  way  ;  and  that  there  are  to  be  fruits,  grow 
ing  out  of  the  tillage  which  they  are  to  undertake,  the  quality  of 
which  affected  as  all  tillage  is  apt  to  be  by  the  sort  of  seasons  which 
the  work  enjoys,  may  be  of  serious  importance  to  all  of  these  parties 
for  good  or  evil.  With  these  points  understood,  we  will  leave  them 
for  a  while,  to  operate  secretly,  while  we  bestow  our  attention,  for  a 
brief  space,  upon  Willie  Sinclair,  whose  movements  are  destined  to 
bring  us  to  the  acquaintance  of  other  parties  not  yet  present  in  our 
action. 

The  guerrilla,  or  partisan  warfare,  is  necessarily  one  which  can 
only  be  characteristic  of  a  very  thinly-settled  country  —  one  of  great 
intricacies  of  swamp,  forest,  or  mountain.  It  involves  from  this 
and  the  tributary  causes,  the  necessity  for  a  great  variety  of  duties  ; 
the  warrior  becoming  in  turn,  the  scout,  the  spy,  the  strategist,  as 
well  as  the  mere  man-at-arms  and  prize-fighter.  We  may  gather  from 
what  we  have  shown  already  that  Willie  Sinclair  had,  besides  been  re 
cently  required  by  ths  nature  of  the  service,  to  play  the  politician  as  well 
as  spy.  He  has  been  actually  within  the  garrisoned  city  of  Charleston 


2C2  THE    FORAYER3. 

—  garrisoned  by  a  strong  force  of  regulars  —  Li  the  bauds  of 
tbe  enemy,  to  be  detected  by  whom  was  sure  to  be  followed  by 
short-shrift  and  sudden  cord  or  shot.  Yet  he  had  lain  there  in 
close  concealment,  and  in  close  conference  all  the  while  with 
leading  citizens,  for  no  less  than  three  days.  His  emissaries, 
meanwhile,  had  been  busy  in  the  parishes  along  the  southern 
seaboard,  operating  as  far  as  Savannah,  and  even  within  the 
lines  of  the  garrison — that  city  being  also  a  stronghold  of  the 
British.  The  results,  of  great  interest  and  value,  contemplating 
a  general  rising,  which  should  include  both  these  termini,  were 
an  within  his  bosom,  matter  of  life  and  death,  upon  which,  in 
some  degree,  the  fate  of  the  war  in  Carolina  —  it's  prolongation 
certainly  —  would  greatly  depend.  We  are  not,  therefore,  to 
feel  any  surprise  to  find  Willie  Sinclair  taking  the  utmost  pre 
cautions  for  the  safety  of  his  person,  as  he  pursues  his  way 
toward  the  village  of  Orangeburg,  a  post  of  rest  for  the  British, 
commonly  garrisoned  by  their  troops,  but  at  this  juncture  sup- 
|K>t>ul  to  be  entirely  free  of  their  presence,  in  consequence  of 
•  no  drafts  which  Lord  Rawdon  had  been  compelled  to  make 
pon  all  his  garrisoned  places,  in  order  to  command  resources 
sufficiently  large  to  take  the  field  against  the  regular  army  of 
Greene.  Sinclair  had  nothing,  accordingly,  to  apprehend  from 
this  source  —  for  a  few  days,  at  least  —  and  his  caution  was 
only  to  be  exercised  against  small  bodies  of  mounted  tories, 
riflemen,  or  cavalry,  such  as  were  commanded  by  native  par 
tisan  rangers,  of  whom  Richard  Inglehardt,  a  person  of  whom 
we  have  had  occasion  to  speak  more  than  once,  but  whom  we 
have  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  introducing  to  our  readers, 
was  a  very  favorable  specimen.  Now,  it  was  known  that, 
though  somewhere  about  the  Edisto,  and  in  the  precincts  of 
Orangeburg,  Captain  Inglehardt  had  none  of  his  troop  with 
him.  A  wound  in  the  arm,  which  had  disabled  him  from  active 
service,  had  temporarily  deprived  him  of  his  command  which 
was  operating  with  Rawdon's  cavalry  —  an  arm  in  which  the 
British  general  was  weak  —  on  the  flanks  of  his  army,  scouting, 
foraging,  and  doing  the  usual  duties  of  cavalry,  though  really 
mounted-riflemen.  Still  Inglehardt,  it  was  also  known,  was  i?ot 
sufficiently  an  invalid  to  be  rendered  idle  of  necessity,  and  it 
was  understood  that  he  had  been  doing  all  the  recruiting  which 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES  —  NEW   PARTIES.  263 

was  possible  to  him,  within  a  limited  range  along  the  Edisto 
What  his  success  had  been  in  this  service  —  whether  he  had  secured 
few  or  many  recruits  — was  a  matter  wholly  unknown  to  Sinclair, 
and  rendered  the  utmost  care  necessary,  on  his  part,  in  making  his 
approaches  to  the  enemy's  ground.  He  pursued,  for  this  reason, 
somewhat  circuitous  route  ;  and,  stopping  at  Rumph's  place,  on 
Turkey  Hill,  to  leave  a  whispered  message  with  a  faithful  negro,  for 
the  ears  of  his  master,  with  which  the  latter  instantly  "put  out"— 
knowing  very  certainly  where  to  find  him  — Sinclair  resumed  his 
progress,  and,  riding  at  his  leisure,  contrived  to  put  himself  in 
the  cover  of  the  Cawcaw  swamp,  a  tributary  of  the  Edisto,  and 
within  a  mile  of  Oraugcburg,  just  after  night  had  settled  down 
upon  the  forest.  Here  he  fastened  his  horse,  hiding  him  away 
in  a  thicket  which  was  not  easily  penetrable,  and  with  pistols 
carefully  reprimed,  and  his  sword  and  knife  convenient  to  his 
clutch,  he  took  his  way  out  and  upward,  making  fearlessly  for  the 
village. 

The  pretty  little  hamlet  of  Orangeburg,  though  so  situated 
as  to  constitute  an  important  depot  and  port  of  rest  and  watch 
during  the  existing  war— and  the  uses  of  which,  in  the  same 
way,  had  been  exercised  in  frequent  colonial  periods  — was  yet, 
at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  a  very  small  settlement,  number 
ing  somewhat  less  than  two  hundred  inhabitants,  white  and 
black,  in  very  equal  numbers.  The  village  lies  along  the  banks 
of  the  North  Edisto,  half  a  mile  from  the  river.  It  is  neatly 
laid  out,  with  some  regard  to  regularity,  and  contained  in  1781 
several  very  decent  dwellings,  according  to  the  notions  of  that 
day,  and  boasted  of  several  well-bred  and  polished  inhabitants, 
some  of  whom  were  comparatively  wealthy.  The  buildings 
were  usually  of  small  size,  seldom  exceeding  two  stories,  rooms 
and  chambers  being  on  a  contracted  scale,  as  is  still  the  case 
mostly  in  the  southern  dwellings  of  the  forest-country.  There 
were  two  taverns,  and  perhaps  as  many  lodging-houses  for 
more  private  accommodation.  A  proof  of  the  progress  of  civ 
ilization,  the  jail  was  one  of  ample  dimensions  and  adequate 
strength,  and  so  located  as,  in  the  event  of  necessity,  to  become 
a  citadel,  overawing  the  settlement.  It  had  been  already  used 
for  this  purpose  by  the  British.  There  was  one  great  fabric 
besides-  a  sort  of  bazar,  the  property  of  good  old  Christopher 


264  THE    FORAYEIIS. 

Rowe,  formerly  an  Indian  lighter;  in  letter  periods  u  tradei 
with  the  Red-men,  who  were  wont  to  assemble  in  great  num 
bers,  Catawbas  and  Congarees,  at  his  dwelling  —  the  bazar  in 
question  —  which  stood  on  the  angle  of  a  square  at  the  lower 
entrance  of  the  village.  Here  he  accumulated  suck  stores  as 
the  Red-men  craved,  and  received  in  return  their  furs  and  pel 
tries.  Here  he  had  amassed  a  considerable  fortune,  retiring1 
from  war,  if  not  from  trade,  and  holomg  a  position,  from  age- 
and  past  performances,  which  suffered  him,  in  his  latter  days, 
to  g€  unscathed  by  either  party  during  the  progress  of  the 
Revolutionary  feud.  But,  nearly  down  to  this  period,  tnc  In 
dian  bazar  of  the  old  trader  was  usually  thronged  witli  his 
wild  visitors,  to  the  gratification  of  the  lads  of  Edisto.  Htuv. 
under  the  exciting  influence  of  the  strong  waters  which  they 
too  "  parlously"  loved,  they  danced  and  junketed  after  their 
grotesque  fashion;  their  rude  sports  sometimes  proving  quite 
as  troublesome  to  their  more  civilized  neighbors  —  the  boys  ex- 
cepted  —  as  they  were  grateful  to  themselves.  But  Kit  Rowe, 
as  he  was  more  familiarly  known  in  the  precinct,  was  well 
aware  of  the  processes  by  which  to  tame  their  humors,  and 
when  a  quiet  suggestion,  or  an  adroit  diversion, failed  to  bring 
them  to  order,  he  did  not  scruple  to  soothe  them  down  with  an 
.oaken  towel  —  a  sort  of  rule  in  which  the  old  soldier  had  no 
little  faith.  He  had  learned  excellent  lessons  of  discipline,  par 
ticularly  among  the  Red-men,  from  frequent  service  in  the  old 
French  and  Indian  wars  along  the  borders  of  the  Carolinas  and 
Virginia  —  a  region  which  admirably  trained  the  young  colon 
ists  of  the  south  for  the  great  contest  which  was  even  then  in 
preparation  with  the  mother-country.  His  commission  in  the 
regiment  of  foot,  led  by  Colonel  John  Chevillette,  is  still  extant 
bearing  the  date  of  1755,  and  the  signature  of  Governor  Glenn. 
a  civilian,  whose  ambition  it  was  to  make  a  military  figure,  with 
out  the  adequate  bone  and  muscle  for  military  boots.  But  all 
this  is  digressive,  particularly  as  our  veteran  has  retired  equal- 
ry  from  war  and  trade,  and,  at  the  period  of  our  story,  was  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  tolerable  degree  of  repose  —  as  much  as  civil 
war  can  possibly  allow  —  under  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree.  Hit- 
dwelling,  one  of  size  as  we  have  said,  with  sundry  warehouses 
contiguous,  was  now  listinguished  by  as  great  a  degree  of  quiet 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES  — NEW  PARTIES.  265 

as  it  was  once  noisy  with  its  herds  of  Red-men.  His  grounds 
stretched  down  in  numerous  acres  from  the  outskirts  of  the 
village  to  a  considerable  distance  along  the  river.  One  half  of 
this  territory  lay  still  in  the  original  forest,  and  a  portion  of 
this  was  swamp,  dense,  intricate,  and  overhung  with  majestic 
trees,  forming  a  proper  place  of  harborage  for  the  outlying 
rebel. 

To  this  harborage,  avoiding  the  village  even  while  compelled 
to  approach  it,  Willie  Sinclair  made  his  way,  and  when  the 
darkness  promised  to  afford  him  adequate  covering,  he  stole  up 
to  the  house  of  the  veteran  captain.  The  latter  sat  in  his 
piazza — a  luxury  with  which  no  southern  householder  willingly 
dispenses,  and  on  the  balaster  sat  a  tankard  of  Jamaica  mod 
erately  dashed  with  simple  water.  They  drank  brave  draughts 
in  those  days,  were  tough  of  brain  as  of  muscle,  and  increased 
the  potency  of  their  potations  at  those  hours  when  brain  and 
muscle  were  equally  permitted  to  forego  all  daily  duties.  We 
have  reason  to  think  that  old  Kit  Howe's  noggin  that  night  —  at 
that  hour  —  nine,  or  thereabouts — was  of  especial  flavor.  We 
may  add,  speakiag  from  authority,  that  he  was  already  half  through 
it,  and  was  meditating  its  pleasantness  and  flavor,  in  the  last  toss 
which  he  had  taken,  when  his  thoughts  were  Suddenly  turned 
into  a  new  and  very  different  channel,  by  a  peculiar  whistle  on 
the  edge  of  the  wood,  west  of  the  dwelling. 

He  knew  all  about  that  whistle,  and  he  answered  it  —  and, 
just  here,  a  word  or  two  may  not  be  amiss  on  the  subject  of 
the  politics  of  the  people  in  this  section  of  the  state.  Of  this 
matter,  we  have  already  said  something  at  the  opening  of  this 
narrative  —  have  spoken  at  large  in  our  historical  summary  at 
the  beginning  ;  —  but  it  may  be  proper  here  to  repeat  that  the 
Orangeburg  precinct  was  divided  in  its  sentiments  with  re 
gard  to  the  Revolution,  divided  quite  as  much  because  of  prin 
ciple  as  policy  —  that  is,  so  far  as  the  nature  of  the  controversy 
was  understood.  But  the  subject  of  controversy  was  not  very 
intelligible  to  our  simple  farmers,  many  of  whom  were  foreigners, 
speaking  no  other  language  than  the  German,  and  but  few  of 
whom  had  ever  been  influenced  by  any  motive  prompting  the 
study  of  this,,  or  any  other  topic,  the  knowledge  of  which  could 
only  be  gleaned  from  books.  For  that  matter,  when  parties 

12 


THE   FORAYERS. 


vage,  the  true  j  .mts  at  issue  are  rarely  understood  by  the  people 

-  arc  rarely  nadc  before  the  people  by  their  politicians and, 

perhaps,  are  scarcely  necessary  to  be  made.  But  this  aside 
<  Yrtainly,  among  our  Dutch  inhabitants  along  the  Edisto,  with 
Min  exceptions,  the  sentiment,  whether  for  or  against  the 
revolutionary  movement,  was  by  no  means  a  warm  or  impas 
sioned  one,  except  among  the  young  men  — and  they,  as  usual, 
\vere  governed  mostly  by  association,  by  feeling,  and  not  by 
any  conviction  of  absolute  duty,  the  result  of  a  calm  discussion, 
and  a  full  understanding  of  the  controversy.  The  older  inhabi 
tants  accordingly,  like  Kit  Howe,  stood  aloof  from  the  issue; 
and  as  they  had  already  served  their  time  to  the  public  exi 
gency,  their  scruples  and  indifference  were  regarded  with  a  na 
tural  and  proper  indulgence.  Their  sons,  however,  were  not  so 
cautious.  They  were  ts>  be  found  in  opposite  ranks  ;  though,  as 
rebellion  has  always  a  certain,  charm  for  young  blood,  the  greater 
number  were  with  the  Revolutionists,  and  this  preponderance 
as  naturally  determined  the  predilections  of  the  aged  and  in 
firm.  Where  they  could  not  take  the  field  themselves,  they 
Avorked  in  secret ;  found  refuge  for  the  fugitive,  tended  his  hurts, 
supplied  his  wants,  furnished  counsel  and  intelligence  to  the 
more  active,  and  did  good  service  of  which  tradition  alone  pre 
serves  the  record.  Marion  encouraged  these  parties  to  keep  up 
a  friendly  intercourse  with  the  British,  and  reaped  the  full 
benefits  of  this  policy. 

But  enough  of  this  !  Enough  that  good  old  Kit  Howe  under 
stood  that  signal  whistle,  answered  it,  and  put  another  tankard 
in  readiness,  with  the  square  Dutch  pottle,  a  good  half-gallon 
receptacle,  in  near  neighborhood  of  the  ample  cup  from  which 
he  was  imbibing  his  own  potent  draughts. 

The  coasOvas  clear,  and  Willie  Sinclair  soon  made  his  ap 
pearance,  and  joined  the  old  man  in  the  piazza. 

"  Take  it  strong,  major,"  said  the  veteran,  pointing  to  the 
vessel — "  it's  no  use  to  waste  good  liquor  upon  thin  water;  and 
I  reckon  you're  off  a  long  day's  ride.  The  Jamaica  is  good; 
—  nine  year-old  in  this  house." 

"  A  nod's  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse,  captain,  and  it 
needs  neither  nod  nor  wink  to  persuade  a  thirsty  one.  But  our 
heads  are  not  Quite  as  strong;  now-a-days,  as  when  you  lira* 


THE  SCENE  CHANGES  —  NEW   PARTIES.  2G7 

studied  the  laws  of  drink  and  discipline,  and — what  do  you 
think  of  that?" — showing  the  color  of  the  mixture. 

"  Too  thin  for  service  in  hot  weather  and  on  a  long  day's 
march. " 

"'Twill  do !  'twont  exactly  make  my  accounts  square  with 
the  world,  but  it  will  suffice  to  bring  me  round.  And  how  do  you 
carry  your  shoulders,  captain,  under  the  heavy  burdens  of  life  ?" 

"Why,  major,  life  is  not  a  bad  thing  if  you  know  how  to 
treat  'it  well.  I  don't  know  but  I  cpuld  stand  the  weight  of 
twenty  more  years  tacked  on  to  mine.  I  shouldn't  object  to 
taking  a  jump  backward  twenty  years,  for  I  find,  major,  that 
the  got  is  not  so  pleasant  as  the  getting ;  and  that  it's  the  use 
of  life  and  not  the  mere  liamng  it,  that  we  find  all  the  good  of 
it,  and  I  reckon  most  of  the  religion  too." 

"Ah!  if  you  were  twenty  years  younger,  captain,  I  might 
hope  to  see  you  on  a  trail  now.  Then  I'd  be  sure  you'd  take 
the  field  with  the  best  of  us,  and  have  a  famous  dash  now  and 
then  at  these  British  blackguards." 

Yes,  Indeed ;  and  any  color  of  guards.  But  you're  all  get 
ting  on  very  well  without  me." 

"  Ah  !  how  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"I  don't  know  it.  Precious  little  do  we  get  to  know  in  these 
quiet  parts.  But  I  feel  it.  I  judge  by  feeling  pretty  much 
and  that  brings  me  intelligence.  There's,  something  in  the 
wind  that  brings  people  knowledge  of  what's  going  on  else 
where.  There's  signs  that  you  can't  see,  that  you  only  feel, 
that  help  you  to  judge  of  the  doings  of  the  world.  Now,  though 
I  don't  hear  a  syllable  of  what's  doing  between  the  two  armies, 
until  its  all  over,  yet  I  feel  sure  that  the  British  are  agoing 
backward.  It's  strange  that  I  feel  so  certain  ;  but  I've  always 
found  a  sort  of  —  what  do  you  call  it — a  sort  of  instinct,  that 
seemed  to  tell  me  what  was  to  happen  whenever  the  affair  was 
a  great  one,  and  likely  to  do  us  hurt,  or  give  us  help  —  to  please 
us  or  to  trouble  us.  And  just  now,  I'm  as  confident  of  our  gains, 
as  if  I  had  it  from  the  best  authority.  Yet  the  last  news  was 
that  Rawdon  was  driving  Greene  before  him,  as  a  drunken 
jockey  drives  a  fast  trotter  ;  and  didn't  I  see  with  my  own  eyes, 
his  three  brand-new  Irish  regiments  that  he  marched  through 
the  village  with  from  Charleston." 


268  THE    FORAYEES. 

"  You  are  right.  We  are  gaining  ground  ;  and  it  will  not  be 
long  before  you  see  his  lordship  back  with  his  new  regiments  a 
little  reduced  in  flesh  and  spirit  and  in  numbers." 

"They  have  it  hpt  enough  for  long  marching  now.  It's  been 
all  day  like  blazes  in  the  sky." 

"  We  shall  probably  have  some  fighting  under  your  own  eyes 
before  long.  Greene  has  turned  about  upon  Rawdon,  and  is  in 
pursuit  of  him  in  turn." 

And  a  long  talk  ensued  between  the  two,  in  which  Sinclair 
recounted  all  those  events,  in  the  relative  progress  of  the  two  ar 
mies,  which  the  other  had  not  heard. 

"  And  now,  captain,  touching  matters  more  near  home.  Is 
Inglehardt  still  about  the  village  ?" 

"  He  keeps  his  quarters  there  ?" 

"  Where?  at  whose  house  ?  " 

"  Widow  Bruce's  as  you  might  have  guessed." 
"True,  so  stout  a  loyalist  as  she  is,  with  such  a  profound 
faith  in  the  graces  and  virtues  of  George  the  Third,  must  have 
possessed  infinite  attractions  for  so  good  a  subject.  But,  while 
I  can  understand  how  he  should  desire  to  lodge  with  her,  I  do 
not  see  why  she  should  accommodate  him.  She  is  such  an  aris 
tocrat  that,  I  fancied,  even  a  good  loyalist,  unless  backed  by  the 
prestige  of  an  ancient  family,  would  hardly  persuade  her  to  re 
ceive  him.  Besides,  she's  well  off,  and  in  receiving  lodgers,  has 
usually  admitted  those  only  who  could  assert  their  dignities  with 
out  regard  to  their  merits." 

"  Oh  !  it's  all  owing  to  the  times.  Everything's  in  such  con 
fusion  now,  that  people  who  have  got  money  need  friends  of  all 
sorts,  just  to  help  them  to  keep  it.  Widow  Bruce  is  more  civil 
and  condescending  now  than  she  was,  and  she  takes  in  the  dro 
ver's  son,  who  is  captain  of  mounted  men,  and  never  troubles 
his  pride  by  telling  him  how  often  she  has  seen  his  dad,  bare 
legged,  driving  his  steers  to  market." 

"Has  he  recovered  from  his  wound  ?" 

"  Pretty  much.  It's  a  little  stiffish,  I  reckon  ;  but  he's  able  to  use 
it.  I  saw  him  not  three  days  ago  on  horseback,  and  he  used  the 
wounded  arm  without  any  trouble  that  I  could  see." 

"  How  has  he  got  on  recruiting  along  the  river  ?" 

"Well  I  reckon  the  chance    for    him    was    small.     He  haint 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES  —  NEW    PARTIES. 

picked  up  many,  and  the  few  he's  got  ar'n't  of  much  account. 
But  he's  got  some,  and  I  reckon  he'll  keep  'em  about  him.  If 
he  didn't,  there's  enough  about  the  village,  at  times — now  that 
he's  got  over  his  wounds — to  make  a  dash,  and  carry  him  off. 
But  don't  you  risk  a  good  deal,  major,  to  be  coming  here  sin 
gle-handed,  just  about  this  time?" 

"No!  I  think  not.  I  keep  close,  trust  nobody,  feel  my  way, 
have  weapon  ready,  and  my  horse  harbors  close  at  hand  in  the 
swamp." 

"The  famous  black!  Ah!  he's  a  beauty,  and  deserves  a 
dragoon's  confidence  !  But  take  care  !  There's  some  about 
Orangeburg  that  don't  love  any  of  your  blood,  and  would  make 
no  bones  of  butchering  you,  or  selling  you  to  Inglehardt,  for 
the  weight  of  one  of  your  buttons  in  gold.  I  reckon  you  are 
satisfied  that  Inglehardt  would  like  no  better  trade  than  to  buy 
you  at  any  price." 

"Ah  !  you  think  so?" 

'  Yes,  indeed  !  If  he  knows  as  much  as  I  do  —  if  he  knew 
as  well  as  me;  how  often  you  get  up  to  Holly-Dale  !  " 

"I  suspect,  my  good  old  friend,  that  he  knows  quite  enough 
to  feel  no  good  will  for  me ;  I  shall  accordingly  try  to  keep 
out  of  his  clutches  while  I  can." 

"  But,  major,  is  it  not  rather  a  strange  way  to  keep  out  of  his 
clutches,  by  coming,  as  I  may  say,  almost  into  'em  ?  "  • 

"  No  doubt,  could  he  see  or  suspect  my  presence." 

"But  he's  all  suspicion,  major.  He's  the  coldest,  cunningest, 
slyest,  most  suspicious  person  you  ever  did  see,  and  wonderfully 
smart.  He  guesses  at  a  thing  sooner  than  any  man  I  ever 
knew.  And  he  has  his  spies  all  about.  And  he's  merciless 
when  he  gets  the  whit  hand  of  you.  Now,  there  would  be  no 
chance  for  you,  if  he  once  had  you  in  his  power  ;  and  he'll  get  you 
there,  as  sure  as  flint  and  steel,  if  you  trust  anything  to  Captain 
Travis." 

"  That  is  the  chief  danger,  captain  ;  and  it  so  happens  that  I 
must  trust  to  Travis.  I  have  business  with  him ;  must  see  him ; 
must  risk  something  to  do  so  ;  and  must,  in  some  degree,  rely  upon 
his  word." 

"  Then  let  me  just  say  one  thing ;  keep  knife  and  pistols 
ready  when  you  meet  him  ;  and,  at  the  first  wink  of  mischief 


270  THE    FORAYERS. 

out  with  steel  and  bullet  and  pitch  into  him,  savage  as  an  In 
dian  when  he  wants  to  feel  the  hair.  There's  no  way  else 
Travis  is  in  and  out  of  the  village  every  day.  Take  him  on 
the  roadside,  and  when  he's  had  no  chance  to  set  his  traps  for 
you.  That's  the  way.  You  can  find  out  if  he  comes  into  the 
village  to-morrow.  It'll  be  soon  after  breakfast  if  he  does. 
Tli en  waylay  him  and  have  your  talk  out  in  the  bushes.  I 
know  how  you  feel  toward  his;  daughter  Bertha,  and  she's  a  girl 
that's  a  sort  of  beautiful  apology  for  a  bad  father,  but  I  can't 
help  telling  you  just  what  I  know  is  the  truth.  Beware  of  the 
father,  whatever  you  may  feel  for  the  child  !" 

We  need  not  pursue  this  conversation,  though  the  par 
ties  did  till  a  tolerably  late  hour,  when  Willie  Sinclair,  in 
spite  of  the  old  man's  invitation,  took  refuge  in  the  swamp 
with  his  horse,  to  whom  he  carried  out  an  armful  of  fodder 
and  a  sack  of  corn.  We  need  scarcely  state  that  Kit  Howe 
gave  the  major  a  good  supper,  though  at  a  late  hour,  which 
was  washed  down  with  a  fresh  stoup  of  Jamaica,  when  the 
young  man  was  again  exhorted  to  take  it.  strong,  as  a  security 
against  the  night  air.  We  do  not  say  that  he  neglected  the  in 
junction.  There  were  some  small  matters  of  business,  relating 
to  the  war,  transacted  between  them,  which  do  not  need  more 
particular  mention,  and  the  night  had  sped  on  to  the  small 
hours  ere  they  separated.  At  dawn,  Willie  Sinclair  had  crossed 
the  river,  at  the  bridge,  just  below  the  village,  and  had  p' anted 
himself  in  waiting,  close  in  the  thicket,  but  near  enough  to 
watch  the  river-road  from  above,  taking  Kit  Rowe's  counsel  to 
intercept  Travis  without  notice,  and  in  a  spot  where,  if  his  pur 
poses  were  treacherous,  he  could  possess  no  agencies,  other 
his  own,  for  putting  them  in  execution. 


COUKSE   OF  TEUB   LOVE."  271 


3  "THE 

f  UNIVERSITY 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

"  COURSE  OP  TRUE  LOVE." 

"  Most  acceptably  come ! 
The  art  of  number  can  not  count  the  hours 
Thou  hast  been  absent.'1— MIDDLETON. 

THOUGH  prepared  to  wait  patiently,  for  the  appearance  of  the 
party  whom  he  sought,  Willie  Sinclair  was  by  no  means  prepared 
to  wait  in  vain.  But  such  was  his  luck  on  this  occasion.  Fastening 
his  good  steed  in  the  deep  thickets  which  spread  between  the 
road  and  river,  he  put  himself  in  position,  so  as  to  watch  the 
former  from  a  spot  where  he  himself  might  lie  unseen.  By  nature, 
he  was  not  a  person  of  very  patient  temperament.  His  blood 
coursed  freely  and  impetuously  in  his  veins.  His  moods  were  all 
ardent.  He  lived  properly  in  action.  But  he  had  somewhat  schooled 
this  nature,  and  partisan  warfare  is  of  an  admirable  sort  to  assist  in 
the  proper  training.  A  few  awkward  little  reverses,  some  surprises, 
and  narrow  escapes,  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  had  been  of  great 
service  to  our  young  major,  as  to  most  of  the  partisan  gentry  of  the 
country,  in  curbing  their  natural  impatience  of  character,  and 
quieting  their  impulses  to  more  staid  paces.  Willie  Sinclair  had 
learned  something  of  that  grand  and  necessary  lesson  —  so  essential 
to  all  progress  and  development  —  so  particularly  essential  to  success 
in  everything  —  to  wait ! 

"Patience  and  shuffle  the  cards,"  he  muttered,  after  he  had 
lingered  for  an  hour  in  the  same  spot;  and  he  crossed  to  the 
opposite  side  for  relief.  But  another  hour  passed  unprofitably, 
and  another.  The  sun,  meanwhile,  rose  high  in  heaven.  The 
winds  were  hushed.  It  was  one  of  those  terribly  clear  days  in 
midsummer,  when  the  sun  rules  with  despotic  sway  ;  when  the 
eye  looks  up  vainly  for  a  friendly  cloud  to  interpose ;  when  the 


2VJ  TJES    FGRAYEES 

air  is  glittering  with  quivering  motes,  in  that  incessant  motior. 
which  pains  the  sense  to  beliold  ;  and  when  the  brain  seems  to 
reel  and  burn  in  sympathy  with  the  hot  glare  and  vibratory 
motion  of  the  firmament.  Where  Sinclair  watched,  there  was 
no  need  of  shelter  from  the  sun.  Never  was  guardian  shade 
more  sure  and  solemn,  than  in  those  deep  thickets.  Great  stal- 
\\-nrt  pines  rose  up  out  of  a  dense  wilderness  of  undergrowth  ; 
cedars  and  scrubby  oaks  —  a  thousand  varieties  —  all  seemed 
struggling  forward  to  crowd  every  interval  of  space,  stretching 
upward  as  emulous  of  every  ray  of  light,  while,  like  the  roofs 
of  great  cathedrals,  of  grand  and  delicate  tracery,  the  broad 
brandies  of  the  pine  stretched  overhead,  interlaced,  linking 
arms,  twining  mazily  together,  and  spreading  great  shields,  as 
it  were,  above  and  abroad,  so  as  to  deny  the  smallest  shaft  of 
sunlight  the  privilege  to  strike  below. 

But,  if  thus  sheltered  from  the  glare,  the  region  below  was 
equally  sheltered  from  the  breeze.  Not  a  breath  could  pene 
trate  that  sombrous  and  silent  sanctuary.  Not  a  leaf  trembled 
under  the  pulsing  pressure  of  the  zephyr.  It  grew  to  be  stilling 
hot,  and  our  lurking  major  felt  it  necessary  to  change  his  posi 
tion  frequently,  to  escape  the  feeling  of  faintness  which  became 
too  oppressive  for  endurance. 

But  change  of  position  brought  no  relief.  Even  military  pa 
tience  could  endure  it  no  longer.  He  had  now  waited  for  more 
than  four  mortal  hours,  and  in  vain.  He  had  seen  no  human 
being — nay,  not  even  a  squirrel.  It  was  a  time,  it  must  be  re 
membered,  when  the  condition  of  the  country,  under  the  raven 
ous  consumption  of  both  armies,  was  approaching  famine  ;  and 
every  beast  of  the  forest,  that  could  be  made  the  prey  of  hunger, 
fell  a  victim  to  the  insatiate  appetites  of  a  half-starving  popula 
tion.  Squirrels  and  rabbits  are  rarely  eaten  in  the  south,  and 
they  multiply  amazingly  at  ordinary  periods.  But  now,  if  you 
beheld  a  squirrel,  he  was  a  disconsolate,  wearing  mourning  foi 
his  tribe!  He  looked  like  one  who  felt 'his  desolation.  Yoi 
might  see  him  at  sunset  sitting  melancholy  upon  the  top  of 
some  rotten  tree,  musing  sadly  upon  the  prospect,  like  Gain; 
Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage.  We  may  surely  forgive 
the  impatience  of  our  hero,  if  it  grew  restiff  after  four  hour* 


"  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE."  273 

of  watch,  in  such  a  region,  and  under  such  circumstances  of  heat 
and  solitude. 

Besides,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  he  was  but  a  mile  or  two 
from  Holly-Dale,  and  Holly-Dale  was  the  home  01  Bertha  Travis  — 
that  damsel  of  whom  we  have  heard  something  already,  of  whom  we 
shall  know  more  presently,  and  of  whom  the  memories  in  the 
heart  and  brain  of  brave  Willie  Sinclair,  were  at  once  perpetually 
active  and  deliciously  exciting, 

Our  major  of  dragoons  was  as  brave  a  soldier  as  ever  smiled  upon 
a  broadsword;  but  he  was  as  fond  a  lover  as  ever  buckled  a  fair 
woman,  like  a  belt  of  beauty,  to  his  bosom.  He  was  not,  it  is  true, 
a  soft  sentimental  cavalier;  but  he  was  an  earnest  and  very  passionate 
one.  Love  with  him  was  not  a  mere  sentiment.  It  was  a  necessity 
and  a  life.  It  was  no  small  trial  of  his  strength  to  require  him  to 
wait  and  watch  for  hours  when  within  a  few  bounds  of  the  home 
where  his  beauty  harbored;  and  it  was  no  small  sacrifice  which  he 
made  to  patriotic  policy,  those  four  hours  which  he  denied  to 
love. 

He  could  deny  the  tender  interest  no  longer.  Concluding  that 
Captain  Travis  was  not  to  visit  Orangeburg  that  day,  he  resolved  to 
seek  him  at  home.  He  must  seek  him  —  must  meet  him — that  day 
or  the  next;  and  this  now  seemed  the  only  proper  process  for  doing 
so,  whatever  might  be  the  peril  which  it  would  involve. 

He  felt  that  Kit  Rowe  was  right.  He  felt  that  there  was  peril. 
Travis,  though  the  father  of  Bertha,  was  not  one  in  whom  faith 
might  be  put  easily.  He  was  a  man  who  notoriously  acknowledged 
no  considerations  superior  to  those  of  self .  He  was  greedy  of  gain; 
eager  for  power,  cringing  when  feeble,  despotic  when  assured  and 
strong;  altogether,  a  man  totally  deficient  in  the  magnanimous 
virtues.  He  was,  besides,  smooth  and  subtle;  scrupling  at  no  arts, 
to  be  secured  by  no  pledges,  when  he  might  gratify  any  of  his  lead 
ing  passions.  Willie  Sinclair  well  knew  that  there  was  but  one 
method  of  securing  and  making  him  steadfast;  and  that  was  by  mak 
ing  it  his  policy  to  be  so.  He  fancied  that  he  had  the  means  to  do 
this  ;  and  that,  in  fact,  he  had  done  something  toward  it 
already.  But  for  this  he  never  would  have  periled  himself, 
alone,  in  the  precincts  of  one  bearing  such  a  character,  and 

12* 


274  THE    PRAYERS. 

very  well  known  to  be  in  the  actual  employment  of  the  British 
commandant  of  Charleston. 

But  Sinclair  dismissed  all  his  doubts  as,  mounting  his  horse, 
he  took  the  way  to  Holly  Dale. 

This  beautiful  little  plantation  retreat  lay  on  the  west  side 
of  the  north  branch  of  the  river  Edisto,  but  a  few  miles  above 
Orangeburg.  It  contained  about  a  thousand  acres,  somo  two 
hundred  of  which  were  in  swamp.  But  a  small  portion  of  the 
tract,  speaking  comparatively,  had  been  cleared.  The  produce 
was  corn,  indigo,  and  tobacco,  cultivated  by  some  twenty  slaves 
We  may  here  mention,  however,  that  Travis  possessed  a  much 
larger  number  of  slaves  which  he  had  contrived  to  secrete  be 
yond  the  Santee,  and  to  cover  under  the  name  of  his  wife's  sis 
ter —  an  old  maid  in  whom  he  entertained  the  most  perfect  con 
fidence.  He  was  thus,  in  some  degree,  secured  against  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  war.  But  he  did  not  feel  himself  quite  se 
cure,  and  he  had  in  view  even  larger  operations,  chiefly  upon 
British  resources,  which  kept  him  perpetually  scheming.  If  the 
British  triumphed,  he  contemplated  the  valuable  lands  and 
chattels  of  certain  estates,  the  confiscation  of  which  was  certain. 
If  they  succumbed  to  the  revolutionists,  there  were  still  some 
processes  by  which  to  fleece  them  before  they  evacuated  the 
country.  And,  whatever  the  final  result,  it  was  still  necessary 
to  his  securities  that  he  should  drive  a  bargain  with  the  rebel 
authorities.  He  could  give  the  quid — such  was  his  assurance 
to  Willie  Sinclair — for  any  favors  which  the  revolutionists 
could  bestow. 

But  we  need  not  anticipate ! 

The  approaches  to  Holly-Dale,  whether  from  above  or  be 
low,  conducted  you  through  long,  dark,  silent  avenues  of  the 
natural  forest,  to  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the  grounds 
and  dwelling-house.  This  building,  a  comfortable  frame-work 
of  two  stories  on  a  basement,  divided  in  the  centre  by  a  great 
passage,  faced  south  and  west,  with  a  piazza  running  along  in 
front ;  a  wing  at  each  extremity  afforded  two  pleasant  guest- 
chambers.  The  house  was  not  more  than  a  short  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  river,  but  a  pleasant  wood  between,  of  mas 
sive  old  trees,  shut  the  latter  out  from  sight.  The  ridge  upon 
which  the  dwelling  stood  was  considerably  above  the  general 


"COURSE   OF   TUtJE   LOVE."  27& 

s 

levol  of  the  plantation,  and  gradually  narrowed  to  a  promontory 
—  a  goodly  bluff  upon  the  river  —  the  land  on  either  side  rap 
idly  skpmg  away  till  it  subsided  into  dense  swamp;  a  vasl 
thicket,  thoroughly  lii'issed  with  foliage,  through  which,  in  times 
of  freshet,  the  river  swept  unobstructed,  and  which,  at  all  times 
was  penetrated  by  its  tributary  waters,  creeks,  lagunes,  ponds, 
rendering  it  wholly  irreclaimable.  The  ridge  occupied  by  the 
settlement,  Icing  sandy,  bore  among  its  more  massive  forest 
trees,  immeious  groups  of  the  holly,  and  hence  the  name  given 
to  the  place.  Suppose  the  usual  outhouses  of  a  well-ordered 
settlement,  worm  fences  enclosing  remoter  fields,  and  neat  white 
palings  circumscribing  gardens,  over  which  white  and  red  roses 
clambered  at  pleasure,  smiling,  like  loving  idiots,  at  all  coiners, 
and  we  may  be  content  with  thus  much  said  by  way  of  descrip 
tion. 

Our  major  of  dragoons  was  not  forgetful  of  his  caution.  As 
he  knew  not  whom  it  might  be  his  fortune  to  encounter  at  the 
house,  he  proceeded  with  due  circumspection;  and,  stabling  his 
horse  in  the  thickets,  advanced  on  foot  toward  the  open 
grounds.  When  he  reached  the  immediate  bounds  of  the  set 
tlement,  he  turned  to  the  right,  and  made  his  way  to  the  bluff 
upon  the  river.  Stealing  from  tree  to  tree,  he  at  length  gained 
the  banks,  and  looked  out  upon  the  stream,  which  rolled  along 
placidly,  bright  as  a  silver  serpent  in  the  sunshine.  At  the 
distance  of  a  hundred  yards  above,  a  little  dugout  — a  canoe 
hollowed,  Indian  fashion,  from  a  cypress  —  rested  lazily  upon 
the  water,  half  shaded  by  overhanging  trees.  In  this  sat  a 
youth,  not  more  than  fourteen  or  fifteen,  fishing  for  blue-cat 
and  perch.  You  have  never  eaten  the  blue-cat  of  the  Edisto, 
gentle  reader  —  or  you  have?  —  in  either  case  you  have  some 
thing  to  live  for.  The  blue-cat  of  the  Edisto  is  one  of  the 
nicest  fish  that  swims,  tender  as  young  love,  white  as  maiden 
purity,  delicate  as  a  dream  of  innocence,  satisfactory  as  a  capi 
tal  prize  in  the  lottery,  to  one  who  has  spent  his  last  dollar  in 
the  selfish  business  of  feeding  hunger  and  clothing  nakedness. 
Take  an  Edisto  cat  in  July  if  you  can  —  boil,  of  course  —  use 
as  little  dressing  as  possible,  beyond  the  melted  butter ;  eschew 
all  fish-sauces,  whatever  their  supposed  virtues,  and  reconcile 
yourself,  with  all  despatch,  to  a  world  which  is  still  capable  of 
such  goodly  productions. 


276  THE  FORAYERS. 

Our  young  fisherman  was  evidently  earning  his  dinner,     81.1 
clair  stole  down  the  bluff,  wormed  his  way  into  the  swamp,  and, 
unheard,  unseen,  crept  out  to  the  banks  not  a  dozen  yards  from 
the  canoe. 

"  Henry  !"  he  called. 

The  boy  was  in  the  act  of  taking  a  perch  —  a  goodly  subject 
for  .such  treatment  as  Saint  Dominic  bestowed  on  heretics. 
The  red-belly  perch  of  the  Edisto  is  not  one  of  its  aldermen, 
but  it  is  nevertheless  a  good  citizen  —  well  to  do  in  the  waters 
—  armed  to  make  himself  respected  where  he  goes;  and,  not 
unwilling  to  take  off  his  armor,  when  the  fight  is  done,  and 
suffer  himself  to  be  properly  dressed  for  company  and  table. 
Yon  may  use  your  fish-sauces  upon  him.  His  delicacy  does  not 
revolt  at  strong  condiments.  In  that  respect,  there  is  but  little 
sympathy  between  himself  and  the  azure  cat,  his  neighbor. 

The  boy  had  just  taken  one  of  these  goodly  perch  from  the 
waters,  when  his  name  was  called,  in  low  tones,  but  sufficiently 
loud  to  reach  his  ears.  He  knew  the  voice,  dropped  the  fish 
into  the  boat,  and  turned  about,  all  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye., 
to  face  the  summoner. 

"  Who  is  it  ?" 

Then,  as  if  he  saw  through  all  disguises,  lift  cried  out  in  a 
voice,  a  little  sharper  and  shriller  than  was  absolutely  essentia* 
to  the  occasion  : — 

"  Major  Willie  !  is  it  you  ?     Oh  !  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  !" 

The  canoe  was  put  about  for  the  shore  in  a  moment,  and  the 
boy  Avas  soon  clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  military  friend.  Verily 
a  tall  and  goodly  boy  was  he,  with  a  sunbrowned,  but  frank,  in 
genuous  face,  and  a  fine  dark,  sparkling  eye,  full  of  intelligence 
and  life. 

"  And  how's  all,  Henry  ?" 

"Well,  well  — all  well." 

"  And  Bertha !" 

"  Oh  !  she's  well  too  ;  but  she's  not  in  a  good  humor.     She 
been  cross  to  me  of  late.     Won't  do  anything  I  ask  her.     It's 
all  owing,  Major  Willie,  to  your  not  coming  when  you  promised.' 

The  major  laughed  merrily 

"But  I'm  come  now,  Henry,  and  we'll  see  if  Bertha's  humor* 
will  improve." 


"COUKSE   OF   TKUE    LOVE."  277 

"Oh!  when  I  say  she's  been  cross,  Major  Willie,  I  don't  mean 
that  exactly.  She's  only  been  forgetful,  and  don't  mind  what  I  say, 
and  don't  do  what  I  ask  her.  There,  it's  a  week  since  she  was  to 
make  my  lines  for  me  —yet  see  what  I  have  to  fish  with  now  —  old 
cotton  strings,  so  rotten  that  a  good  big  fish  would  snap  'em  all  to 
pieces  —  and  I  do  think  she's  never  thought  of  them  since.  And  you 
don't  know  how  much  I  want  e'm.  The  fish  are  now  biting  famously. 
See  what  I've  caught  in  an  hour.  Three  fine  cat,  seven  perch  and 
two  jackfish,  in  an  hour  — less  than  an  hour,  and  if  I  had  come  out  at 
sunrise,  I  might  have  caught  twice  as  many:  and  if  I  come  about 
sunset,  I'll  be  sure  to  do  so.  The  river  is  just  right  now,  Major  Wil 
lie  —  low  enough  —  " 

"  And  warm  enough  !  " 

"That  it  is,"  answered  the  boy,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow 
—"But  you're  well,  Major  Willie?  You're  not  wounded  ?  Have 
you  had  any  more  fighting  ?  Oh  !  I  so  want  to  see  you  a-fighting  — 
in  a  charge,  with  that  brave  black  horse  !  Where's  the  black,  Major 
Willie  —  you  have'nt  had  him  shot  ?  He  isn't  killed  or  hurt  ?  Where 
is  he  now  ?  " 

The  queries  of  the  boy  poured  out  in  a  flood.  Sinclair  tried  to 
.answer  them  all. 

"  No  ! "  he  said,  "  the  black  is  as  brave  and  sound  as  ever;  I'm  not 
hurt,  as  you  see;  we  have  had  some  little  skirmishing,  but  nothing 
much;  and,  as  for  your  seeing  a  fight,  Henry,  I  wish  you  were  only 
ten  years  older,  that  you  might  try  your  own  broadsword  in  it,  and 
strike,  side  by  side  with  me,  in  a  charge  upon  the  redcoats." 

"  Ha  !  wouldn't  I  then  ?  How  I  would  cut  right  and  left !  Hur 
rah  !  hurrah  !  How  I  could  make  'em  skip  ! " 

And  the  boy  yelled  with  the  exciting  idea.  Sinclair  put  his 
hands  on  his  mouth. 

"  Sh  !  —  sh  !  A  good  partisan,  Henry,  waits  for  the  moment  of 
charge  for  giving  the  war-whoop  !  At  all  other  times  his  rule  is  to 
know  first  who  may  be  listening.  For  we  never  give  the  '  hurrah ' 
till  the  broadsword  is  flashing  in  the  air,  and  we  are  ready  to  smite 
with  it,  over  the  shoulders  of  the  enemy." 

"Oh!  there's  nobody  here  now,  Major  Willie.  You're  quite 
safe." 


278  THL    POJfcUFFffc'. 

"  Where's  your  father  7" 

"  In  Orangeburg.  He  went  over  yesterday,  and  didirt  comn 
back  last  night  —  won't  come  back,  I  reckon,  till  to-night.'* 

•'Ah!  —  but  mother  and  sister  are  both  at  home,  and  qufte 
well !  There's  been  no  trouble,  Henry." 

"  Not  a  bit !  Oh  !  not  a  bit !  All's  so  dull  at  home  !  We 
never  see,  nor  hear  anything  hardly  of  the  fighting,  for  father 
keeps  a  close  tongue.  Oh  !  he  is  so  close  —  so  shy  of  his  words  ; 
—  and  then  mother  don't  want  to  hear  of  the  war  —  and  sis  is 
afraid  to  hear !  It  is  so  dull,  Major  Willie,  that  I  wish  you'd 
beg  for  me,  and  carry  me  off  somewhere,  where  I  could  see 
something,  and  learn  to  do  a  little  of  the  fighting  myself.  Why, 
I  can't  even  try  my  gun.  Father  says  powder's  too  scarce,  and 
there's  nothing  to  shoot;  and  that's  true  —  there's  no  seeing 
even  a  squirrel;  —  and  father's  hid  my  gun  in  his  own  room. 
He  says  people  would  take  it  away  from  me.  But  would  they, 
do  you  think,  Major  Willie,  if  I  had  a  good  load  in  it,  and  had 
only  time  enough  to  draw  sight?  I'd  like  'em  to  try  it!" 

"Why,  you  are,  indeed,  cut  off  from  all  resources,  Henry." 

"Isn't  it  too  bad,  Major  Willie?  And  there's  sis  too,  that 
don't  even  try  to  please  me,  and  don't  make  my  lines,  though 
she  promised  me.  And — " 

"Henry!"  at  that  moment,  soft  and  musical,  yet  full  and 
clear  as  a  silver  bell,  sounding  over  a  mountain-lake,  was  the 
call  of  a  voice  from  the  edge  of  the  highlands. 

"  That's  Bertha  now  !"  murmured  Willie  Sinclair. 

"  Yes  !  it's  sis  !  I  wonder  what  she  wants."  And  he  shout 
ed  in  reply,  and,  immediately  afterward,  darted  through  the 
swamp,  calling  to  Sinclair  to  follow  him.  This  the  latter  did, 
with  almost  as  little  deliberation  as  the  boy,  though  with  far 
more  difficulty.  The  latter  leaped  lightly,  and  knew  the  way ; 
the  large  frame  of  our  major  of  dragoons  rendered  the  task  of 
rapid  progress  through  the  undergrowth  a  much  more  serious 
one  to  him.  But  he  scrambled  through  after  a  fashion ;  and, 
with  the  frank,  heartful  ardor  of  an  honest  love,  prepared  to 
ascend  the  little  elevation  upon  which  the  damsel  stood  await 
ing  his  approach. 

Was  Bertha  Travis  a  beauty  ?  It  is  enough  that  Willie 
Sinclair  thought  so.  She  was  certainly  such  a  creature  a» 


•27V* 

would  compel  admiration  in  any  circle ;  of  fine  shape,  medium 
size,  graceful  movement,  and  dignified  yet  eager  carriage. 
Her  figure  was  slight,  yet  sweetly  rounded.  Her  eyes  were, 
once  dark  and  brilliant.  Her  cheek  was  somewhat  pale  ordi 
narily.  It  now  wore  a  delicate  flush  which  might  be  due  to 
a  brisk  walk  from  the  dwelling  to  the  bluff,  in  that  ardent  sum 
mer's  day;  but  was,  in  all  probability,  the  fruit  of  the  unex 
pected  encounter  with  her  lover.  Such  an  event  is  well  calcu 
lated  to  bring  the  blood  of  a  young  fond  heart  out  upon  the 
cheek. 

"  See  who's  come,  sis  !"  cried  the  boy,  beckoning  to  Sinclair 
— "  see  whom  I've  brought  you,  sis !  It's  Major  Willie,  in 
spite  of  the  homespun  hunting-shirt." 

"He  has  been  reproaching  you,  Bertha,"  cried  Sinclair,  as  he 
ascended  the  bluff. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Henry,  "but  I  was  wrong.  See,  sli* 
has  done  the  lines  and  brought  them.  She's  a  good  little  sister 
after  all." 

He  took  the  lines  from  her  hand  while  speaking.  She  re 
mained  silent. 

"  Bertha  !"  said  Sinclair,  clasping  her  hand  in  his  own ;  "  we 
meet  once  more." 

"  You  are  safe,  Willie,  ojiite  safe  ?" 

"  Yes ;  unhurt,  and  only  much  wearied.  I  have  had  a  hard 
travel,  in  an  anxious  quest,  and  come  for  solace.  Can  you 
give  it  me?  Here  you  have  peace?  Shall  I  say  love  also?" 

She  looked  at  him  very  earnestly,  and  he  now  detected, 
mingling  with  a  deep  shade  of  sadness  upon  her  cheek,  an  ex 
pression  of  reserve  and  caution  in  her  eye.  There  was  some 
thing  of  a  trembling  motion  in  her  lips  which  arrested  his  ob- 
servation,  and  made  him  feel  that  something  had  gone  wrong 

lie  turned  from  her  to  the  brother  and  said  :— 
'  Go,  try  your  new  lines,  Henry,  while  Bertha  and  I  talk  of 
jur  own  affairs." 

The  boy  laughed  consciously  and  merrily,  and  said  : — 

"It's  almost  too  late  for  much  sport  now.  The  £sl  will  be 
N!OW  to  bite  till  toward  sundown  ;  but  I  know  you  never  want 
im;  \vhen  you  can  have  sis;  and  so,  I'm  off.  Call  me  when  you 
tjjt-.t  tired  of  your  own  talk.  I'll  be  i™  the  boat." 


280  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Sensible  boy,"  said  Sinclair  quietly,  as  the  lad  trotted  down 
into  the  swamp.  When  he  was  fairly  gone,  the  lover  said,  pos 
sessing  himself  of  Bertha's  hand  : — 

"  What  troubles  you,  Bertha  ?  I  do  not  misunderstand  the 
signs  in  your  eye,  and  upon  your  face.  You  are  grave,  sad  — 
something  has  happened  to  disquiet  you ;  but  nothing,  I  trust, 
dear  Bertha,  to  make  you  doubtful  of,  or  displeased  with  me." 

She  released  to  him  the  hand  without  scruple,  and  he  pressed 
it  warmly  in  his  own.  A  moment  after  she  replied  frankly, 
and  with  all  that  sweet  natural  impulse  which  shows  the  true 
heart,  untouched  and  untrammelled  by  convention. 

"  No,  Willie ;  it  is  scarce  possible  that  you  should  ever  dis 
please  me  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  of  your  truth  and  love  !  If  I 
had,  I  should  not  linger  with  you  a  moment.  But  I  confess  to 
doubts  and  anxieties  of  my  own,  Willie,  that  make  me  unhap 
py —  unhappy,  even  in  the  possession  of  your  love." 

"  What !  why  is  this '{  What  has  happened,  Bertha,  to  occa 
sion  these  perplexities  ?" 

"  Willie,  you  must  speak  to  me  honestly  and  truly,  as  you 
can  !  You  shall  know  all  that  troubles  me ;  and  I  shall  be  too 
glad,  Willie,  if  you  can  relieve  me  of  my  fears  and  anxieties. 
I  do  not  wish  to  doubt,  or  fear,  or  feel  anxious,  in  any  way, 
where  your  love  is  the  subject.  I  have  given  you  all  my  heart, 
I  need  all  of  yours ;  and  it  would  be  the  greatest  of  miseries  and 
disappointments  to  me,  dear  Willie,  if  anything  should  happen 
to  make  me  feel  that  I  ought  not  to  wish  you  mine,  or  to  keep 
your  pledges  that  you  would  make  me  yours." 

She  paused  and  looked  most  sweetly  into  his  full  eyes.  He 
saw  that  her  troubles  were  really  felt,  and  no  mere  lover- 
anxieties,  such  as  idleness  and  loneliness  will  breed. 

1  Why,  dear  heart,  you  alarm  me  !  What  can  have  caused 
fhese  doubts,  these  misgivings'?  Tell  me  all  —  hide  nothing! 
flas  that  subtle  and  treacherous  Richard  Inglehardt  been  at 
work,  to  make  you  fearful?" 

Oh  !  his  working  should  never  occasion  doubt  or  fear  in  my 
heart ;  least  of  all  could  word  of  his,  or  any  one,  affect  my  trust 
in  you.  It  is  not  that,  but  something  of  a  far  different  kind." 

"  And  what  is  it,  my  own  Bertha  ?" 

'•  I  know  not  how  to  speak,  Willie:— -it  is  of  so  difficult  a 


281 

nature,  yet"  —  desperately — "I  must!  It  must  be  spoken,  Willie, 
for  if  I  have  given  you  up  all  my  heart,  I  have  not  given 
up  my  pride;  and  if  I  am  to  bear  your  name,  Willie,  I  must 
not  feel,  or  suffer  anyone  to  feel  or  think,  that  I  arn  not  worthy 
of  it." 

"Oh!  who  can  think  or  speak  thus,  dear  Bertha?  Speak!  tell 
me  frankly  of  your  cause  of  trouble.  Do  not  keep  me  in  sus 
pense." 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  looked  mournfully  into  his  eyes.  He 
would  have  drawn  her  to  his  bosom,  but  she  resisted  firmly,  saying, 
"No,  Willie — no!" 

But  he  repossessed  himself  of  one  of  her  hands,  and  his  arm  half 
circled  her  waist;  and  thus  they  stood,  side  by  side,  beneath  the 
sheltering  boughs  of  an  ancient  water-oak.  And  thus  they  stood 
silent  for  a  while — she,  at  least,  silent,  while  he  only  interrupted 
the  interval  by  entreating  her  full  speech.  He  was  now  suffi 
ciently  anxious  himself,  showing  more  of  the  tender  lover  than 
altogether  beseemed  the  rustic  garb  he  wore  and  his  sanguinary 
profession. 

"Henry  said  you  were  sad  and  suffering,  Bertha — at  least,  I 
gathered  thus  much  from  what  he  did  say  —  but  I  fondly  fancied 
that  your  griefs  grew  from  my  absence,  as  all  that  I  suffer,  at  any 
time,  is  due  to  yours.  But  that  there  should  be  any  serious 
cause  of  disquiet  —  that  you  should  feel  or  fear  my  love  to  be  a 
snare  to  your  pride  or  sensibilities  —  I  never  thought  or  dreaded  that, 
Bertha." 

"Nor  is  it,  Willie.  Of  you  I  have  no  fear  —  no  doubt:  —  for  you 
I  have  but  one  feeling,  and  that  one  is  the  very  life  to  my  heart; 
but  — 

"And  for  whom  else  should  you  care?"  he  exclaimed,  almost 
fiercely;  but  she  stopped  him,  laying  one  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
withdrawing,  at  the  same  time,  from  his  embrace.  She  had 
now  evidently  nerved  herself  to  a  difficult  task,  and  her  eyes 
met  his  firmly,  as  she  lifted  up  her  face.  Her  love  was  a  very 
artless,  ingenuous  passion,  and  betrayed  itself  without  reserve. 
In  such  cases,  the  pain  is  in  the  thought  of  giving  pain.  Ber 
tha  knew  that  what  she  was  about  to  say  must  do  this.  Her 
preliminaries  were  instinctively  designed  to  strengthen  herself 
and  to  mollify  the  annoyance  she  was  compelled  to  inflict.  He 


£8:2 


THE   FORAYERS. 


gazed  in  her  sweet,  sad,  but  ingenuous  eyes,  and  subdued  nmv 
self  to  patience,  as  he  urged  her  tenderly  to  proceed. 

"  Willie,  dear  Willie,  you  know  even  better  than  I  what  dif 
ference  exists  in  the  several  ranks  of  our  society.  Now,  yov 
know,  that  mine  is  comparatively  of  humble  stock ;  and  though 
n-y  mother  comes  of  good  family  in  the  Low  country,  yet,  in 
marrying  my  father,  who  was  an  obscure  Indian  trader,  she 
incurred  the  reproach  and  anger  of  her  own  kindred.  They 
neglected,  and  finally  cast  her  off." 

"  She  was  as  good  and  noble  as  any  of  them." 
"  Yes,  but  in  such  cases,  it  seems,  the  wife  sinks  to  the  1ms 
band's  rank,  and  loses  something  of  her  own.  But  be  patient 
and  hear  me.  It  is  a  fact  to  be  remembered,  however,  that 
they  cast  her  off.  Their  reasons  for  this  cruelty  were  to  be 
found  in  this  difficulty  of  social  caste.  The  career  of  my  father 
has  not  been  pursued  in  such  walks  as  could  restore  her  to  po 
sition  ;  and  you  perhaps  know  that,  even  along  the  Edisto,  there 
are  many  who  do  not  hold  my  father  of  like  rank  with  them- 

selves " 

Pshaw,  Bertha,  who  shall  cure  conceit  of  its  folly  ?  and  how 
great  must  be  his  folly  who  shall  attempt  it !  These  distinc 
tions  here  are  ridiculous  enough." 

"  Patiently,  dear  Willie.  You  must  know,  too,  that  it  is  one 
of  my  poor  father's  weaknesses  to  desire,  above  all  things,  to 
conciliate  the  favor  of  the  great  — to  take  rank  among  the 
very  people  who  despise  his  humble  beginnings,  and  who,  at 
best,  when  they  make  concessions,  only  tolerate  those  whom 
they  fear,  or  whom  they  wish  to  use  for  some  selfish  or  slavish 
policy.  To  me,  the  favor  of  such  people  is  a  thing  of  no  mo 
ment.  I  do  not  despise  it,  but  I  would  not  seek  it.  Favor, 
friendship,  love,  must  all  come  from  natural  sympathies,  or  they 
hide  a  falsehood  at  the  core,  and  I  care  for  no  sympathies  that 
are  not  free  gifts  of  the  heart  —  that  the  heart  is  compelled  to 
purchase." 

"And  you  are  right,  my  Bertha.  In  this  lies  the  whole  secret 
and  security  of  th*  affections.  Have  I  ever  taught  otherwise  ? 
Do  I  desire  less  for  you  — offer  less  to  you?  To  what,  dear 
Bertha,  do  all  these  expressions  tend  ?" 


"•COURSE   OF   TRUE   LOVE."  28n 

•*  Do  not  be  impatient,  dear  Willie.  I  have  so  much  to  say, 
,hat  I  know  not  well  how  to  say  it." 

"Let  us  sit,  Bertha  —  there,  in  the  shade  of  those  cedars  on 
the  slope  of  the  hill.  The  day  is  so  warm  ;  but  a  little  breeze 
rising  from  the  river,  sweeps  up  the  slope.  Let  us  sit,  and  we 
can  talk  more  easily." 

And  he  led  her  down  the  slope,  and  found  for  her  a  shady 
spot  upon  the  dry  leaves  that  strewed  the  earth.  ^  After  a  brief 
pause,  she  resumed  : — 

"  I  have  not  been  kept  in  ignorance,  dear  Willie,  of  the  dif 
ferences  of  rank  in  society,  which  draw  a  line  between  my  own 
and  the  more  distinguished  families  in  our  county.  I  kno^  my 
father's  history — his  humble  rise,  his  poverty  at  first,  all  his  ne 
cessities,  and  that  the  trade  which  he  pursued  with  the  Indians, 
was  held  in  scorn  by  our  wealthy  planters.  My  mother,  brought 
up  in  these  very  prejudices,  was  quite  aware  of  their  operation 
•ipon  her  own  position  when  she  married  my  father,  and  she 
has  not  suffered  me  to  remain  in  ignorance.  But,  until  recently, 
I  never  suffered  them  to  disturb  me,  or  to  occasion  any  doubts 
of  my  own  security  in  my  mind." 

•'  And  why  should  they  now,  Bertha  ?" 

"  You  shall  hear  in  time.  When  you  became  known  to  me, 
Willie,  and  I  found,  and  showed  the  pleasure  which  I  found  in 
seeing  you,  my  mother  warned  me  that  your  family  was  a  very 
proud  one,  of  great  wealth,  of  old  rank,  and  bade  me  be  cautious 
how  I  suffered  you  to  see  that  I  loved  you.  But  I  did  not  then 
feel  or  fear  her  warnings.  I  had  no  caution,  Willie ;  I  only 
felt  happy  when  you  came,  happier  when  you  spoke  to  me" 
Kindly,  and  very  unhappy  when  you  went.  I  am  afraid,  dear 
Willie,  that  I  suffered  you  to  see  this  as  soon  as  my  dear 
mother  saw  it." 

"  And  if  you  did,  sweet  Bertha,  it  only  served  to  make  an 
other  heart  as  happy  as  your  own.  Was  there  harm  or  loss  to 
you,  my  love,  in  such  heedless  policy.  Nay,  was  there  ever 
more  politic  counsellor  for  love  than  the  fond  confidence  which 
begets  a  love  like  its  own,  and  is  never  so  successful  as  when 
it  lelivers  itself  blindly  to  the  faith  which  it  feels.  Why  should 
you  repent  this  heedlessness,  Bertha?  I  have  never  trespassed 
upon,  never  abused  it.  It  won  back  all  that  it  gave  —  a* 


284  THE  FORAYERS. 

much  as  it  gave  —  and  unless  you  have  learned  to  question  uj 
truth,  dear  Bertha,  you  have  lost  nothing,  incurred  no  peril—- 
only  put  out  your  affections  at  interest,  in  a  sweet  traffic  of  af 
fections  which  have  brought  in  rare  profits  —  have  doubled 
your  original  capital.  You  see,  my  sweet,  that  I  too  can  talk 
in  the  language  of  trade,  even  in  the  affairs  of  the  heart/' 

"  Willie,  I  believe  you.  It  is  all  true.  But  this  is  not  all. 
As  I  was  sayijig,  I  was  counselled  that  my  family  held  no  such 
rank  as  yours  in  society ;  that  we  were  obscure  and  humble ; 
that  your  family  was  proud  among  the  proudest;  mine  just 
rising  from  the  dust.  My  mother  spoke  of  all  these  distinctions 
too  clearly  to  leave  me  in  any  doubt.  And  she  did  not  under 
value  me  in  her  eyes,  or  disparage  rne  to  my  own,  when  she 
told  me  that  I  was  but  a  simple  country-girl,  having  no  experi 
ence  of  life  among  the  great,  ignorant  of  much  that  they  know, 
artless,  unsophisticated,  too  believing,  too  confiding,  and  with 
nothing  to  commend  me,  Willie,  but  a  pretty  face  —  and  a  true 
heart." 

He  caught  her  to  his  bosom  as  she  spoke. 

"What  more!  What  more!"  he  cried — "did  I  ever  lead 
u  on  to  think,  my  Bertha,  that  the  heart  of  Willie  Sinclair 
longed  for  more  ?" 

"  No,  Willie ;  and,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  I  repent  not 
that  you  have  caught  me  in  your  arms  —  I  sigh  not  because 
your  kisses  have  been  sweet  upon  my  lips.  They  have  been 
very  sweet  to  me,  Willie.  They  have  filled  my  heart  with  a 
new  life  —  a  joy  —  that  it  never  knew  until  I  breathed  under 
your  love.  Ah  !  Willie,  is  not  this  enough  for  confession  !  See 
how  free  I  am  of  speech.  And  against  this,  mother  warned  me 
also.  She  knew  that  my  lips  still  spoke  as  my  heart  felt,  and 
she  shook  her  head  in  frequent  warning.  But  I  loved  you  from 
the  first,  Willie,  and  it  was  so  sweet,  so  easy  to  tell  you  so.  I 
could  die  for  you,  Willie,  and  never  feel  the  pain ;  and  why 
shouldn't  I  tell  you  so." 

"  Why  not,  indeed !"  he  murmured,  looking  into  her  eyes, 
the  tearful  tenderness  which  he  felt." 

"  And  I  told  you  so  —  and  I  gave  you  all  my  heart  —  and  I 
i)li  mother  all  that  I  had  said  and  done,  and  she  sighed  to 
near  it,  and  had  her  misgivings  still  —  but  she  approved  when 


285 

she  came  to  know  you  well  —  and  her  hopes  grew  with  my  own  of 
happiness.     Do  I  tire,  you,  Willie  ?  " 

"No!  no!  It  is  so  much  music  that  I  seem  to  dream.  I  could 
listen  to  you  forever,  Bertha." 

"  And  we  were  betrothed.  Ah!  Willie.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
trembling  happiness  of  that  moment  when  you  wrapped  me  in  your 
first  embracej  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  dying  in  }rour  arms,  but  without 
any  of  the  pang  or  fear  of  death.  We  were  betrothed,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  the  world  was  mine,  with  all  its  moonlight,  and  flowers, 
and  sweet  breezes:  It  was  a  child  heart  that  I  gave  you,  Willie, 
having  a  perfect  confidence  in  all  the  beauties  and  blessings  of 
this  world,  and  taking  them  ail  as  your  gift  and  yours  only. 
Was  it  not  all  very  foolish  of  me,  Willie,  so  to  think  and 
feel  ? " 

"  Foolish,  Bertha!  This  is  the  very  wisdom  of  the  heart. 
The  child  is  apt  to  be  wiser  than  the  man.  It  is  the  faith, 
after  all  and  before  all,  the  generous  gift  of  confidence,  the 
implicit  trust  that  believes  only  where  it  loves,  and  loves  to 
believe,  that  makes  the  true  virtue  in  love,  and  renders  it  the  most 
precious  of  all  earthly  possessions  —  nay,  more  than  earthly  — 
makes  it  a  thing  heavenly,  akin  to  all  that  is  precious  in 
immortality.  Ah  !  Bertha,  if  you  should  outgrow  this  child 
heart  ! " 

"  That  is  the  new  pain  that  troubles  me,  Willie.  My  father  knew 
of  our  engagement,  my  mother  told  him  all;  and,  though  he  warned 
us  all  to  secrecy,  he  yet  approved;  nay,  Willie,  I  must  tell  you,  he 
was  very  proud  of  it  —  it  promised  to  help  him  to  the  social  position 
for  which  he  had  so  much  yearned.  He  said  to  me,  '  The  Sinclairs 
are  among  our  first  families  —  rich,  popular,  distinguished  '  —  but 
this  did  not  lift  my  heart  in  pride.  No,  Willie,  if  I  felt  pride  at  all, 
it  was  only  in  the  one  Sinclair  whom  I  so  loved  to  think  my  own  — 
my  own." 

"Ah!  flatterer!  — But  did  your  father  say  why  he  enjoined  you 
to  secrecy  ? " 

"  Not  exactly;  but  we  gathered  enough  from  what  he  did  say  to 
learn  that  he  was  particularly  anxious  that  it  should  not  get  to  the 
ears  of  Richard  Inglehardt  " 

"Ah!  as  I  thought!" 

"  But  why  —  what  is  Inglehardt  to  him  or  to  me  ? 


2»6  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Of  tliat  hereafter,  Bertha !  We  are  still  far  oft  from  tht 
tiling  that  troubles  you." 

"  Oh  !  Willie,  I  wish  I  could  not  tell  you  that !  But  1  must 
tell  it.  There  must  be  nothing  in  my  bosom,  which  I  should 
seek  to  shelter  or  to  keep  from  you." 

"  Speak  fearlessly,  dear  Bertha." 

"  Well,  my  father,  without  saying  a  word  to  us,  went  down 
to  see  your  father,  and  came  back  to  us  in  a  perfect  rage.  At 
first,  he  said,  that  there  should  be  no  engagwnent  between  us; 
that  there  was  an  impassable  wall  between  us  —  that  your  fathei 
had  grossly  insulted  him  —  that  he  had  treated  him  like  a  dog 
—  that  your  sister  was  the  haughtiest  woman  breathing  —  that 
she  had  not  noticed  him  at  all,  or  so  contemptuously,  that  every 
word,  and  every  look  was  an  insult; — that,  speaking  of  you, 
Colonel  Sinclair  told  him  that  the  subject  was  not  one  proper  to 
his  mouth;  that  there  could  be  no  circumstances  which  should 
justify  him  in  adverting  to  you  at  all;  and  when,  it  seems,  my 
father  mentioned,  as  delicately  as  possible,  your  attentions  to 
ine,  then,  that  your  father  broke  out  in  the  wildest  rage,  and 
said  that  the  whole  suggestion  was  a  lie,  and  that  his  son  could 
never  so  much  demean  himself,  as  to  think  of  the  daughter  of 
an  Indian  trader.  My  father,  in  his  fury  —  for  I  never  saw 
him  half  so  roused  before  —  said  that  he  didn't  tell  us  half  the 
insults  to  which  he  submitted  ;  and,  at  the  time,  he  forbade  that 
1  should  think  any  more  of  you." 

"But  ho  has  thought  differently  since,  Bertha  —  has  spoken 
differently  1"  said  Sinclair  with  a  sad  interest  in  his  look. 

"  Oh  !  yes !  But  Willie,  this  makes  no  difference  to  me  / 
Shall  I  enter  a  family  which  scorns  me  —  which  holds  my  family 
in  scorn  —  which  treats  my  father  with  contempt  and  abuse  — 
•which  wrongs  the  family  of  my  mother  —  and  makes  my  very 
affections  for  you  the  means  by  which  to  do  them  dishonor'?:1 

"  My  own  dear  Bertha !  This  has  come  upon  me  prema 
turely.  All  that  you  have  said  about  my  family  rank  and 
wealth  is  unloubtedly  true;  all  that  you  have  said  of  the  too 
frequently  idle  distinctions  of  caste  prevailing  in  our  social 
world,  is  also  true,  unhappily.  Col.  Sinclair,  my  father,  is  by 
nature  and  education,  a  proud  and  haughty  person.  He  is  a^so 
a  man  of  violent  passions  when  under  provocation  full  of  false 


"  COURSE   OP   TRUE    LOVE."  287 

notions  of  blood,  and  the  victim  of  many  prejudices.  But  lie  is 
one  who  means  to  be  just,  and  all  his  instincts  are  honorable 
and  all  his  sympathies  are  true.  Forgive  me  now,  if  I  say  that 
your  father  committed  a  very  serious  error,  if  not  offence,  in 
broaching  to  a  father  —  and  such  a  father  —  a  subject,  of  so  deli 
cate  a  nature,  concerning  his  son,  of  which  the  son  himself  hao 
never  spoken.  My  father  felt  that  such  a  communication  should 
never  have  been  first  made  by  a  stranger.  This  did  me  harm 
with  him.  You  are  not  now  to  be  told  that  my  father  is  a  loyal 
ist.  As  such,  he  holds  my  course  with  the  patriotic  part/ 
to  be  monstrous  and  criminal.  We  see  each  other  but  seldom 
now.  Until  recently,  we  have  not  exchanged  a  syllable  for 
months.  Your  father  anticipated  me,  and  thus  prejudiced  my 
argument.  I  had — I  confess  to  you  —  and  believe  — &  difficult 
task  to  perform,  in  overcoming  the  prejudices  of  a  life,  in  the 
mind  of  an  old  man,  suffering  from  a  painful  chronic  disease, 
and  so  irritable,  in  consequence,  that  the  very  opening  of  a  sub 
ject  to  him  which  threatens  to  disturb  old  opinions,  is  calculated 
of  itself  to  irritate.  Your  father  finds  him  in  this  condition  of 
mind  and  body,  and  —  without  any  preparation  —  without  any 
consideration  of  the  condition  of  the  subject  —  without  even 
respecting  his  political  prejudices  —  knowing  too  that  Colonel 
Sinclair  had  personal  prejudices  against  himself  growing  out  of 
affairs  that  happened  when  the  two  served  together  in  the  war 
against  the  Cherokees  —  he  bluntly  proposes  a  sort  of  trade,  your 
heart  and  mine  being  articles  of  certain  value  to  be  set  off  against 
the  claims  of  the  British  crown  —  claims  which, to  an  old  loyal 
ist,  were  paramount  to  all  other  considerations." 

"  Did  my  father  do  this  ?" 

"  So  I  gather  from  the  spasmodic  and  angry  speeches  of  my 
father,  and  from  the  partial  report  of  my  sister." 

"  And  that  sister,  Willie  1  Is  she  so  proud,  so  haughty,  so 
scornful  of  the  humble  name  of  Bertha  Travis." 

"  Carrie  Sinclair  !  Oh  !  how  little  you  know  that  sister  from 
the  report  of  your  father.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  real  mis 
sion  till  he  was  gone.  She  heard  of  him  only  as  a  British 
commissariat,  seeking  to  contract  with  my  father,  for  a 
hundred  head  of  beeves  for  the  Charleston  garrison.  Nay,  there 
was  a  contract,  and  the  beeves  furnished,  and  it  was  onlv  whon 


88  THE   FORAYERS. 

the  contract  was  executed,  that  your  father  broached  the  sub 
ject  of  our  intimacy  to  mine.  This  was  after  Carrie  Sinclair 
had  retired  from  the  table.  Her  conduct  was,  I  will  venture  to 
say,  only  what  yours  would  have  been  under  the  same  circum 
stances.  You  come  down  to  dinner  and  find  a  stranger,  of  whom 
you  know  nothing,  seeking  cattle,  and  you  are  civil  to  him  as  a 
lady  at  your  own  table,  but  reserved,  and  not  disposed  to  en 
courage  familiarity  or  approach.  This  was  all.  In  your  father's 
eagerness  to  attain  an  object,  he  overlooked  all  its  difficulties, 
never  sought  to  anticipate  them,  rushed  at  them  impetuously, 
and  was  baffled." 

"  All !  but,  Willie,  the  prejudice  is  still  there.  How  can  I 
enter  a  family  which  looks  upon  the  approach  of  mine  —  its 
alliance —  with  aversion  V 

"  Bertha,  my  love,  I  am  not  aware  that  God,  among  his 
many  mercies,  has  ever  guarantied  to  man  a  perfect  success 
and  facility  in  the  prosecution  of  any7  of  his  objects.  This, 
which  is  true  of  all  objects  of  human  desire,  is  said  to  be  partic 
ularly  true  of  the  affections.  The  great  poet,  Shakspere, 
whom,  I  trust,  I  have  taught  you  to  love  and  venerate,  and 
to  study,  has  especially  insisted  upon  such  unavoidable,  nay, 
necessary  obstacles,  in  love,  and  in  love  too  which  is  most  dis 
tinguished  byT  its  sincerity.  Crafty  love,  bargain  and  sale  love, 
trading  and  selfish  love,  calculating  and  conniving  love,  are  all 
much  more  likely  than  sincere,  deep,  profound  honest  love,  to 
attain  their  ends  ;  for  the  simple  reason  that  their  ends  are  all 
meaner,  more  vulgar,  more  common,  depending  upon  arts  and 
interests  of  a  character  not  more  noble  than  the  driving  of  a 
clever  bargain.  It  is  true  love  whose  course  does  tiotrun  smooth 
ly,  and  I  do  not  know,  dear  Bertha,  that  it,  lessens  the  value  of 
the  commodity  that  its  impediments  are  so  great  and  many  !  I 
never  disguised  from  you  the  fact  that  there  were  impedi 
ments —  nay,  prejudices,  of  all  kinds  the  worst — to  be  over 
come.  But  I  told  you  they  should  be  overcome,  dear  Bertha, 
and  I  begged  you  to  have  faith  in  me.  What  shall  I,  or  can  1, 
say  more?  Suppose  I  should  fail  to  overcome  the  prejudices 
ot  my  father  —  suppose  that  ho  persists  in  his  blindness  and  de 
termined  hostility  to  the  real  interests  of  my  heart  —  is  love 
thereby  baffled,  my  Bertha  ?  Will  lovetsubmit  to  take  its  law 


"  COUIJSE!   OF  TRUE   LOVE." 

from  blindness  and  prejudice,  and  unreasonable  obstinacy  1 
Heaven  forbid  ?  Though  Heaven  requires  that  its  waters 
shall  not  flow  smoothly,  it  does  not  require  that  they  shall  be 
dammed  up  :  nay,  dear  heart,  it  provides  the  obstacles,  and  op 
poses  the  current,  and  drives  it  back,  only  the  better  to  test  its 
strength  and  honesty  —  only  that  it  may  acquire  the  necessary 
force  to  break  down  all  barriers,  and  &ssc;l  over  all  in  triumph 
its  living,  earnest  and  life-giving  sincerity.  So  shall  it  be  with 
ours,  dear  Bertha  !  So  shall  our  love  triumph  over  all  opposi 
tion  of  father  as  of  all  others.  Nay,  though  my  father  never 
yielded  —  though  my  family  still  kept  insensible  to  your  merits, 
yet  shall  /so  wrong  them  —  so  wrong  myself — as  to  yield  to 
the  wrong,  and  give  you  up,  and  sacrifice  myself  to  silly  preju 
dices,  or  a  blind  mulish  obstinacy  that  rejects,  reason,  feeling, 
and  the  claims  of  youthful  ardor?  But,  there  is  no  obstacle, 
here,  however  seemingly  stubborn,  which  will  not  be  overcome. 
My  father  is  a  man  of  warm  affections,  and  most  loving  of  his 
children,  when  most  seemingly  hostile.  He  has  his  humors,  but 
they  subside  finally  into  concessions  which  better  show  his 
heart.  He  will  be  conciliated.  As  for  Carrie  Sinclair — ah  ! 
if  you  cherish  one  doubt  of  her,  I  shall  love  you  one  kiss  the 
less.  Know  that  Carrie  has  already  commissioned  me  to  kiss 
you  with  a  sister's  love,  and  to  bear  to  you  a  sister's  welcome. 
She  is  prepared  to  believe  you  all  that  I  have  painted  you  to 
her  imagination." 

The  girl  yielded  with  a  sweet  sigh,  to  the  ardent  clasp  with 
which  the  lover  folded  her  to  his  arms,  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  speech.  Let  us  leave  them  for  a-while,  to  watch  the  circles 
in  the  water,  if  they  please,  to  note  the  glittering  shafts  of  sun 
light  upon  the  ever-glimpsing  stream,  to  listen  to  the  sudden 
voice  of  the  mocking-bird  which  has  just  taken  perch  upon  a 
twig  of  the  tree  not  twenty  feet  above  their  heads,  and  there 
sits,  balancing  and  swinging,  while  he  sings  of  the  gay  life  it 
the  triumphant  lover. 

13 


236  THE  FORAYF3H9. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A    PAIR    OF    ARCADIANS. 

WMILK  our  major  of  dragoons,  seizing  a  brief  respite  fiom  the 
toils  of  war,  was  solacing  himself  in  the  embrace  of  love,  let  us 
return  to  the  village  of  Orangeburg,  and  make  the  personal  ac 
quaintance  of  other  parties,  of  whom,  hitherto,  we  have  only 
heard. 

The  dwelling  of  the  widow  Bruce  was,  at  the  time  of  which 
\ve  write,  one  of  the  most  pretentious  in  the  village.  It  was  a 
doulle  house  of  two  stories  upon  a  basement  cellar,  and  faced 
with  an  ample  piazza.  It  occupied  a  central  position  in  the 
place,  being  situated  in  the  main  street  some  two  squares  dis 
tant  from  the  jail  in  a  northwest  direction.  No  traces  of  it  now 
remain. 

The  widow,  herself,  was  a  Scotchwoman  and  a  loyalist.  She 
believed  devoutly  in  Britain  and  in  George  the  Third;  was 
fully  assured  of  her  principles,  ready  in  their  assertion,  inflexi 
ble  in  their  maintenance,  and  perfectly  satisfied  of  the  ultimate 
and  complete  triumph  of  royalty  in  its  endeavor  to  maintain 
itself  in  the  country.  She  was  by  temperament  an  aristocrat, 
proud,  high-spirited,  lofty  of  bearing,  delicate  in  consideration, 
and  tenacious  of  all  the  proprieties.  She  was  a  woman  of  de 
cided  character,  with  a  temper  of  her  own  ;  of  good  face  and 
figure,  stately  and  of  excellent  carriage.  At  thirty-five  or  forty, 
her  age  at  this  time,  she  was  not  too  old  to  cultivate  the  graces, 
or  to  feel  the  necessity  of  looking  her  best  upon  great  occasions. 
She  was  not  rich,  but  in  moderate  circumstances  ;  and  we  are 
not  to  suppose  that  she  kept  an  ordinary.  Her  house  simply 
yielded  its  hospitalities  (for  a  consideration,  no  tloubt)  to  visiters 
of  distinction.  The  magnates  of  the  rival  paities,  alone,  were 
welcome.  Here,  accordingly,  my  lords  Cornwallis  and  Raw- 


A    PAIR    OP    ARCADIANS.  291 

:lon  made  their  headquarters  when  they  visited  the  place ;  and 
BO,  at  other  periods,  did  the  American  leaders,  especially  Gov 
ernor  Rutledgc,  who  was  quite  a  favorite  with  the  widow,  in 
spite  of  his  intensely  rebel  predilections.  In  those  days,  the 
utter  disruption  of  society  in  Carolina  —  the  fact  that  the 
Revolution  had  divided  families,  and  placed  in  opposition  the 
members  of  the  same  circle  —  led  necessarily  to  great  toleration 
among  all  persons  of  sensibility.  The  widow  Bruce  was  an 
Lonest  loyalist,  but  there  were  sundry  honest  rebels  whom  she 
could  welcome  to  her  abode  with  no  diminution  of  her  ancient 
hospitality. 

Her  house  being  aristocratic  in  pretension,  it  was  quite  natu 
ral  that  all  new  men,  ambitious  of  position,  should  prefer  it  as  a 
place  oT  lodging,  to  that  of  Jack  Baltezegar  who  was  the  pro 
fessed  publican  of  the  village.  Honest  Jack  was  the  democrat 
par  excellence  of  the  place  ;  not  one  of  that  class  of  noisy,  brawl 
ing,  impudent  demagogues  of  the  present  day,  at  once  insolent 
and  ignorant ;  but  a  genuine,  simple,  frank,  good-humored  fel 
low,  rough  and^  unpretending,  who  was  willing  to  serve  you 
and  provide  for  you,  and  receive  your  money  with  thanks,  and 
send  you  forth  with  a  blessing  when  you  departed.  Jack  Bal 
tezegar  was  a  good  specimen  of  the  village-landlord,  as  well  in 
person  and  deportment,  as  in  taste  and  principle.  He  was  a 
baldheaded,  ruby-nosed,  broad-mouthed,  lively-eyed  fellow, 
short  and  squab  of  figure,  with  face  and  belly  equally  roun-d 
and  ample,  fond  of  jest  and  dinner,  and  no  slouch  at  a  rouse, 
with  a  group  of  good  fello\vs  in  the  hall,  after  all  the  demure 
lodgers  have  gone  off  to  bed.  His  tavern,  which  was  of  more 
humble  appearance  and  dimensions  than  that  of  the  widow 
Bruce,  stood  upon  Main  street,  i.  e.,  the  Charleston  road,  and 
w;is  the  resort  of  all  persons  of  moderate  means,  of  humble  pre- 
teiiBions,  and  such  especially  as  thought  much  more  of  their 
ease  and  freedom  than  of  social  rank  and  appearances. 

Now,  it  was  wholly  owing  to  this  difference  of  status  that  the 
lodging-house  of  the  widow  Bruce,  was  preferred  to  that  of 
Jack  Baltezegar,  by  our  captain  of  mounted  riflemen,  Richard 
Inglehardt.  Inglehardt  was  a  new  man  ;  an  ambitious  man, 
anxious  to  shake  off  old  and  inferior  associations;  anxious  to 
bung  himself  into  constant  comn'imic-ation  with  persons  of 


292  THE   FORAYERS. 

whose  social  /ank  there  could  be  no  question.  His  family,  and 
that  of  Jack  Baltezegar,  had  been  closely  intimate  ;  but  be 
tween  himself  and  honest  Jack,  there  was  a  broad  sandy  stretch 

—  a  desert  scarcely  passable —  which  neither  sought  to  overpass, 
and  which  the  ambitious  captain  would  prefer  to  see  increasing 
in  breadth  of  space  and  depth  of  sand.     Jack  Baltezegar  knew 

—  none  better  —  all  the  humble  antecedents  of  Richard  Ingle- 
hardt.     It  was  the  most  impertinent  sort  of  knowledge,  which 
Jack  was  not  disposed  to  keep  sealed  up  from  the  vulgar  sense. 
He  might  have  been  civil  enough  to  keep  silence,  had  Richard 
been  sensible  enough  to  have  foreborne  giving  the  preference 
to  the  house  of  Widow  Bruce.     Had  he  done  so,  indeed,  it 
might  have  been  the  better  for. himself — might  have  secured 
him  greater  popularity  —  for,  the  truth  must  be  told,  Richard 
was  more  feared  —  respected,  perhaps  —  than  loved.     He  had 
abandoned  his  caste,  an  unforgivable  offence,  which  moved  the 
dislike  of  all  its  members ;  and  he  had  not  quite  succeeded  in 
forcing  himself  upon  the  affections,  or  the  full  confidence  of  that, 
other  circle  which  he  sought  to  penetrate ;  and  this  moved  the 
scorn  and  derision  of  his  old  associates  —  none  of  whom  was 
more  sharp  and  satirical  than  our  excellent  Jack  Baltezegar. 
Now,  Jack  was,  besides,  though  in  secret,  a  revolutionist.     He 
did  not  publish  his  articles  of  faith,  it  is  true;  and  he  rather 
avoided  all  question  in  respect  to  them  ;  but,  in  his  own  way, 
he  suffered  the  patriots  to  know  that  he  was  an  ally  whenever 
the  wind  blew  from  the  right  quarter. 

It  was  not  with  any  eagerness,  we  may  state,  that  the  widow 
Bruce  consented  to  receive  Captain  Richard  Inglehardt  into 
her  dwelling.  She,  too,  was  quite  well  acquainted  with  his 
first  beginnings,  'and  early  associations.  She  did  not  incline 
to  these,  and  she  did  not  much  affect  the  character  of  the  man. 
As  a  lodger  he  would  never,  before  the  Revolution,  have  found 
his  way  to  her  board ;  but  that  event  forced  people  into  new 
and  seemingly  unnatural  relations  and  the  widow  Bruce  was 
compelled  to  recognise  the  claims  of  the  loyalist  captain,  in  a 
lawless  period,  whom,  as  the  son  of  an  obscure  overseer,  of  no 
good  character,  she  would  have  spurned  from  her  threshold. 
Inglehardt  felt  all  this,  but  was  quite  willing  that  circumstances 
should  do  for  his  desire*  what  personally  he  might  not  have  dons 


A    PAIR    OP    ARCADIANS. 

hmiach';  and  his  good  sense  did  not  suffer  him  to  feel  any  re 
sentments  in  consequence  of  what  he  knew  to  he  the  real, 
though  suppressed  feelings  of  his  hostess  toward  him.  She 
despised  him  —  that  he  knew  —  as  an  individual;  but  as  she 
did  not  outrage  his  pride  hy  any  wanton  exhibition  of  her  sen 
timents,  he  was  by  no  means  unwilling  that  she  should  enter 
tain  them.  In  fact,  he  had  nothing  to  desire  at  her  hands  more 
than  he  received,  and  beyond  this  he  never  troubled  himself  to 
consider  for  a  moment  what  degree  of  sympathy  might  exist 
between  them.  He  had  few  sympathies  himself  for  anybody, 
and  his  heart  was  of  too  cold  a  nature  to  feel  the  need  of  sym 
pathy  from  others. 

Coldness  of  heart  was  the  great  and  terrible  infirmity  of 
Richard  Inglehardt.  He  could  be  kind  upon  occasions  —  nay, 
was  habitually  kind  —  forbearing  rather,  and  when  unmoved  by 
selfish  considerations.  But  the  moment  that  self  interposed, 
however  slightly,  he  was  as  unscrupulous  as  a  tiger.  Mild  and 
conciliatory  of  manner,  slow  and  subdued  in  speech,  patient  and 
quiet  under  all  circumstances,  deliberate  in  all  his  moods,  he 
was  subtle,  sly,  suspicious,  ever  working  in  secret  like  a  spider, 
stretching  his  meshes  on  every  side,  and  ensnaring,  where  he 
could,  with  a  restless  cunning,  that  worked  half  the  time  from 
mere  instinct,  and  the  love  of  the  employment.  He  was  pas 
sionate  in  nothing.  His  hate  or  love  was  never  a  thing  of  ex 
tremes,  never  uncalculating,  never  rash.  ,  He  could  abandon, 
with  small  feeling  of  sacrifice,  the  object  of  attachment  for  a 
consideration ;  and  could  embrace  his  worst  enemy,  in  the  at 
tainment  of  a  new  desire.  Essentially  cold  of  heart,  he  had  no 
friendships,  acknowledged  no  sympathies,  and  subjected  all  his 
feelings,  with  little  effort,  to  the  requisitions  of  the  reason  or  of 
the  moment.  He  was,  in  brief,  one  of  those  unfortunate  men 
whoso  minds  grow  prematurely  into  strength  at  the  expense  of 
their  affections.  His  intellect  at  fifteen  was  as  much  matured 
as  at  twenty-five.  In  short  he  had  never  been  a  boy.  Ripe 
from  the  beginning,  his  mind  was  as  subtle,  and  deliberate,  as 
well  balanced,  and  cool  and  circumspect,  as  if  endowed  with 
fifty  years  of  social  experience. 

A  mind  thus  constituted,  without  the  eager  passions  arid  gen 
erous  impul  .;es  of  youth,  rarely  goes  beyond  a  certain  gradu 


£94  THE   FOBAYERS. 

ttted  and  respectable  measure  of  performance.  It  i«  stationary 
usually  —  unprogi-essive,  and,  as  it  usually  excites  large  expec 
tations  at  first,  so  it  is  apt  to  disappoint  its  own  promise  in  the 
end.  It  is,  perhaps,  true  in  general,  that  great  minds  are  com 
monly  slow  of  growth  to  maturity.  There  must  be  a  gradual 
lise  to  strength,  if  permanence  is  to  be  attained;  and  the  very 
sobriety  of  youth  is  really  an  unfavorable  indication  for  the 
future  performances  of  manhood.  Of  Richard  Inglehardt,  the 
calm,  sensible,  cool,  discreet,  assured  boy,  large  expectations  had 
been  formed.  He  still  remained  calm,  and  cool,  and  sensible  ; 
mid,  in  moderate  affairs,  even  sagacious  ;  but  something  more 
is  essential  to  maintain  the  claims  of  such  a  beginning.  That 
he  had  not  advanced  beyond  his  earliest  marks,  was,  in  fact, 
proof  of  retrograde.  And  he  had  not  advanced.  He  had  shown 
himself  brave,  but  not  brilliant ;  cunning,  but  not  wise  ;  calcu 
lating,  but  not  profound ;  able  in  the  performance  of  ordinary 
duties,  but  never  nobly  adventurous.  As  a  captain  of  mounted 
riflemen,  he  had  been  diligent.  He  knew  his  duty,  but  he 
never  rose  to  performances  which  cast  a  glory  over  the  simple 
duty.  He  had  never  conceived  greatly,  as  he  lacked  impulse 
and  enthusiasm  ;  and  exhibited  no  resources  beyond  the  narrow 
range  of  customary  endeavor.  The  lack  of  enthusiasm  is 
always  a  proof  of  deficient  genius.  Talents  he  had ;  an  adapt 
able  capacity  for  the  work  before  him;  he  was  a  shrewd  judge 
of  common  men  ;  could  conceive  their  motives  ;  anticipate  their 
projects ;.  thwart,  or  promote  them,  according  to  the  sugges 
tions  of  his  own  policy ;  but  enthusiasm  foiled  him ;  he  could 
never  comprehend  the  worth  of  impulse,  generous  self  sacrifice, 
ardent  adventure,  eager  and  impetuous  zeal.  His  cunning 
failed  him  usually  when  he  had  to  deal  with  these  qualities. 
He  not  only  did  not  quite  understand  them,  he  did  not  believe 
in  their  existence ;  or,  if  he  did,  it  was  only  to  rate  the  posses 
sor  as  lacking  in  that  common-sense  virtue  which  was  his  own 
and  only  secret.  Now,  a  common-sense  mind,  with  a  cold 
heart,  is  a  thing  of  cunning  only  —  not  of  wisdom  —  not  of  vir 
tue  ; — without  magnanimity  ;  capable  of  small  operations,  among 
small  people;  and  usually  failing  deplorably  in  moments  of 
sreat  exigency^  when  it  requires  a  brilliant  conception  to  en 
counter  the  udds  of  an  extreme  necessity. 


A    PAIR   OF    ..ll'JADlANfl.  295 

Yet  tins  man,  so  cold  of  heart,  so  insensible  to  syn.pathy,  su 
.•alculating  in  his  affections  —  such  as  they  were  —  was  a  pro 
fessed  lover  of  Bertha  Travis.  What  was  the  secret  of  this  anom 
aly  ?  The  contradiction  exists  simply  in  appearance.  He  was 
a  man  of  objects,  continually  seeking  something  —  always  aim 
ing  and  grasping  ;  and,  while  in  pursuit,  singularly  tenacious 
'of  his  object.  He  possessed  a  dogged  sort  of  perseverance, 
which  supplied  the  lack  of  zeal ;  but  his  pursuit,  not  grounded 
upon  the  affections  or  the  sympathies,  but  the  result  of  calcula 
tion  only,  could  be  arrested  in  a  moment,  by  the  suggestion  of 
any  new  motive  of  self  to  his  mind.  Of  course,  he  was  not 
wanting  in  animal  passions  also,  and  these  become  terrible 
powers  of  evil  in  a  cold  heart.  His  early  years  had  been  passed 
in  near  neighborhood  of  the  Travis  family.  His  father  had 
been  for  several  seasons  in  the  employ  of  Captain  Travis,  as  a 
keeper  of  his  large  stock  of  cattle,  and,  for  a  time,  as  the  over 
seer  of  his  negroes.  The  boy  had  set  his  eye,  even  while  she 
was  yet  a  child,  upon  the  budding  charms  of  Bertha.  He  had 
determined,  with  wonderful  precocity,  that  she  should  be  his 
wife.  She  was  beautiful,  and  he  had  a  taste  for  beauty,  which 
was  stronger  than  any  feelings  or  affections  of  his  heart.  She 
had  the  promise  of  wealth,  and  at  a  very  early  period,  he  had 
discovered  the  almost  universal  power  of  wealth,  and  he  desired 
wealth  as  a  means  of  power.  Power  was  his  principal  craving, 
and  his  aim  contemplated  every  possible  avenue  to  it.  He  had 
accordingly,  resolved  upon  making  Bertha  Travis  his  wife. 

Of  course,  he  felt  all  the  difficulties  in  the  way  to  the  attain 
ment  of  his  object.  The  almost  immeasurable  space  which,  in 
a  society  like  that  of  South  Carolina,  separates  the  overseer's 
family  from  that  of  his  employer,  presented  a  barrier,  the  height 
nnd  breadth  of  which  the  calculating  eye  of  young  Inglehardt 
began  to  scan  and  study  when  he  had  but  entered  his  teens. 
He  did  not  even  try  to  deceive  himself  in  respect  to  its  formic) 
able  impediments.  The  Revolutionary  struggle  was  favorabit 
to  its  over-throw,  and  he  determined  to  avail  himself  of  it.  A 
time  of  general  commotion  in  society  is  apt  to  be  destructive  oi 
most  conventionalities. 

But  there  was  yet  another  barrier  in   the  little  damsel  her 
self.     She  had,  strange  to  Fay,   at  a  very  early  period,  shown 


296  THE    FORAYERS. 

herself  singularly  averse  to  the  youth.  The  instincts  of  the 
young  rarely  deceive  them,  when  they  themselves  possess  en 
thusiasm  and  sensibility.  The  very  lack  of  the  former,  in  the 
boy,  though  she  could  by  no  means  describe  the  deficiency, 
trace  its  source,  or  define  its  precise  effects  upon  herself,  was 
yet  a  source  of  dislike  and  aversion.  She  repelled  ail  his  ap 
proaches  ; —  she  did  not  fear  him,  but  she  avoided  him.  Her 
instincts  rightly  led  her  to  regard  him  as  of  cold,  selfish,  un 
scrupulous  character ;  to  fed  rather  that  he  was  so  ;  and  this, 
too,  without  expending  thought  upon  the  subject.  It  was  only 
in  the  full  rush  of  the  revolutionary  torrent,  that  Bertha  Travis 
ever  began  to  think  that  there  might  bo  any  serious  danger  to 
herself,  in  the  undesired  preference  which  Richard  Inglehardt 
bestowed  upon  her  charms. 

Still,  up  to  a  late  period,  his  preference  was  of  a  somewhat 
undemonstrative  character.  He  was  not  less  tenacious  of  his 
object,  because  he  pursued  it  quietly,  in  secret,  and  with  a  cir 
cumspect  avoidance,  outwardly,  of  all  design.  He  had  proposed 
to  her,  it  is  true,  and  been  rejected;  —  civilly,  but  firmly;  — 
sufficiently  so  to  convince  him  that  she  was  not  to  be  won  by 
him,  through  the  medium  of  her  affections.  But  he  was  not  dis 
couraged.  He  had  been  advised  of  her  intimacy  with  Sinclair. 
He  had  once  met  him  at  the  house  of  Travis ;  he  had  seen  and 
felt  that  the  latter  was  a  formidable  rival ;  he  had  seen  the 
love  of  Bertha  Travis  speaking  out  in  eye,  and  lip,  and  gesture, 
without  constraint,  at  the  approach  of  this  rival.  He  did  not 
hate  Sinclair  for  this  reason ;  it  was  the  chance  o£  the  game 
that  had  given  the  latter  his  ascendency  ;  but  he  resolve  I  to 
baffle  him  nevertheless ;  to  destroy  him  if  he  could ;  to  make 
his  fate,  if  possible,  a  means  for  acting  upon  the  fears  of  the 
maiden.  He  had  another  agency  for  this  purpose,  in  the  fa*  her 
of  Bertha.  He  knew  the  corrupt  nature  of  Travis.  He  had 
fathomed  some  of  his  secrets.  His  study  was  to  perfect  his 
power  over  the  fortunes  of  the  latter,  and  make  the  condition 
of  his  safety,  the  hand  of  his  daughter. 

And,  in  the  prosecution  of  these  schemes,  he  had  steadily  en 
gaged  for  months  —  nay,  almost  for  years  —  and,  with  a  certain 
degree  of  success,  in  respect  to  the  affairs  of  the  father  —  which 


A    PAIR   OF    ARCADIANS.  29-7 

by  this  time,  began  to  render  him  more  than  ever  confident  of 
his  game. 

And  Travis,  himself,  a  sly  and  subtle  politician,  had  discover 
ed  the  practice  of  the  other;  had  begun  to  fear  him  ;  kept 
close  watch  upon  his  movements,  and  steadily  worked,  on  his 
hand,  to  strengthen  his  defences,  and  multiply  his  resources 
against  the  moment  of  attack.  He  felt  that  he  was  measurably 
in  the  power  of  Inglehardt  already ;  in  other  words,  that  the 
latter  had  discovered  certain  secrets  which  would  greatly  pre 
judice  him  with  the  British  commanders,  Rawdon  and  Balfour ; 
a  condition  of  his  affairs  which  became  much  more  complicated 
as  he  reflected  upon  the  uncertainty  of  the  K evolutionary  issue. 
Were  he  sure  of  the  triumph  of  the  British,  the  game  was  in 
his  own  hands,  provided  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  his  daughtei 
to  the  man  who  held  the  secret  of  his  erring  practice.  But  this 
result  was  daily  becoming  more  and  more  doubtful.  Travis  was 
too  old  a  soldier,  and  too  keen  a  politician,  not  to  perceive  that 
the  resources  of  Great  Britain  were  nearly  exhausted  ;  that,  in 
fact,  for  some  time  past,  she  had  been  fighting  her  battles, 
through  the  weapons  of  the  colonists  themselves.  The  loyaJ 
Americans  now  constituted  the  best  portions  of  her  veteran 
regiments.  The  moment  that  this  fact  should  become  fully  appa 
rent  to  the  colonists,  themselves,  would  be,  he  well  knew,  the 
signal  of  their  withdrawal  from  those  ranks,  in  which,  conquer 
ed  or  conquering,  they  were  still  only  sacrificing  native  blood 
in  behalf  of  foreign  power. 

But,  let  us  view  these  two  persons  together,  Inglehardt  and 
Travis,  as  they  sit,  fronting  each  other  at  a  table,  in  the  cham 
ber  of  the  former,  at  the  house  of  the  stately  widow  Bruce 
Travis  has  been  invited  to  the  conference.  It  is  the  resump 
tion  of  one  which  took  place  the  night  before  at  Baltezegar's, 
where  Travis  usually  had  a  chamber. 

See  the  two  as  they  sit  at  the  table.  There  they  sit,  smiling 
both,  suspicious  both,  with  the  sympathy  of  an  equal  cunning 
alone  bringing  them  together;  each  with  a  selfish  object;  each 
well  aware  that  all  the  ordinary  securities  among  men  —  loyalty, 
good  faith,  a  common  object,  a  common  feeling  —  are  all  equally 
wauti  ig  to  either  party.  Both  are  persons,  to  the  casual  eye,  of 
rathei  pleasing  aspect ;  smooth  of  face,  lively  of  eye,  intelligent  of 

13* 


298  THE  FORAYERS. 

visage.  In  both,  however,  the  acute  physiognomist  will  detect 
some  unpleasant  peculiarities.  Neither  looks  into  the  eye  of 
his  neighbor.  Both  would  like  to  do  so,  but  neither  is  willing 
to  expose  his  own.  The  lips  of  Travis  show  some  incertitude 
of  character;  those  of  Tnglehardt  are  firm  enough,  but  the  lips 
do  not  smile ;  they  only  part  when  he  would  laugh.  Both  are 
in  en  of  sallow  complexion,  and  lark  hair;  but  Travis  is  fifty  • 
Ingiehardt  scarce  twenty-five.  Yet  how  equal  in  years  !  The 
latter  was  as  old  as  Travis  when  but  tAventy,  as  he  had  lived 
only  in  the  intellect.  Whatever  the  moral  deficiencies  and 
obliquities  of  the  other,  he  was  not  wanting  in  the  affections, 
and  a  heart  so  much  contributes  to  the  proper  human  wisdom, 
that  we  may  give  him  credit  for  even  an  intellectual  progress 
which  the  other  can  never  make.  His  mind  is  already  old  ; 
his  heart  has  never  grown  at  all.  The  one  has  dwarfed  the 
other,  out  of  sight,  as  if  it  never  had  existence. 

What  pleasant  jest  has  been  provoking  them  to  laughter  ? 
That  laughter  of  the  heartless  —  What  a  lie  it  is!  What  a 
mockery  of  heart  and  humanity  !  A  laugh,  to  be  of  any  value, 
to  compel  any  respect  or  sympathy,  must  be  down-right,  honest 
—  an  ebullition  which  we  not  only  would  not,  but  can  not  re 
strain.  A  strained  laugh  has  the  effect  of  a  serpent's  hiss,  a 
savage's  howl,  the  child-like  cry  of  the  hawk.  It  tells  of  mis 
•chief.  Beware ! 

But  the  parties  know  each  other. 

The  laughter  subsides,  and  both  faces  suddenly  sink  into 
gravity.  An  honest  laugh  subsides  slowly.  It  is  like  a  gener 
ous  sunset  which  leaves  its  sweet  soft  purplish  tints  upon  the 
sky,  even  when  the  parent  smile  is  gone  from  sight. 

There  is  no  smile  now  on  either  face.  Each  looks  gravely 
upon  the  floor  or  the  table.  Travis  rises,  restlessly,  and  lights 
his  pipe  which  he  has  laid  upon  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Will  you  drink.  Captain  Travis  ?"  asks  tnc  younger  politi 
cian  in  deliberate  accents,  measuring  every  syllable,  and  rap 
ping  his  snuff-box  with  nice  manner  ere  he  pinches. 

"  Drink !  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  captain.  What  have  you 
got?" 

"Jamaica  and  Monongahela,  both." 

And  the  speaker  r>  ;e  slowly,  placed  his  thumb  and  fore 


A    PAIR    OP    ARCADIANS.  299 

finger  to  his  nostril,  sneezed  with  moderate  emphasis,  laid  the 
Bimff-box  in  a  particular  place  upon  the  table,  took  out  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  passed  it  deliberately  about  his  upper  lip, 
returned  it  to  his-  pocket,  and  made  three  steps  to  his  closet, 
when  he  produced  two  royally  large  black  bottles,  both  square, 
and  both  half  filled  with  liquor. 

"  The  Jamaica  is  particularly  old,  Captain  Travis.  It  is  part 
of  a  small  supply  which  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  secure,  during 
my  last  visit  to  Charleston,  at  the  sale  of  some  confiscated  effects 
of  Gadsden,  and  some  other  of  the  rebel  gentry.  The  Monon- 
gahela,  is  of  some  age  also,  but  it  has  no  family  characteristics 
to  recommend  it.  It  is  a  good  creature,  however,  as  good  as 
the  district  can  furnish  of  its  age." 

All  this  was  spoken  in  low  tones,  very  slowly,  drawlingly  in 
fact,  Avith  a  slight"  nasal  twang,  which  might,  however,  be  due 
to  the  snuff,  which  Inglehardt  too  freely  used,  rather  than  to  the 
natural  tones  of  his  voice.  The  whole  manner  of  the  man  was 
artificial.  His  true  nature  was  to  be  found  in  art  —  that  i§,  in 
the  exclusive  sovereignty  of  his  mental  constitution. 

"  The  Monongahela  for  me,"  said  Travis.  "  I  am  half  in 
clined  to  think  that  the  Jamaica  is  hurtful.  The  whiskey  never 
affects  the  brain  or  liver.  The  Jamaica  does  both." 

And  he  poured  out,  as  he  spoke,  a  moderate  stoup  of  the 
liquor,  which  he  only  dashed  with  water.  Inglehardt  was  even 
more  moderate.  He  drank  but  little.  Abstinence  was  among 
his  virtues.  He  never  suffered  his  wits  to  escape  from  the  leash 
of  will  and  prudence. 

"  Neither  troubles  mine,  I  think." 

"  Hah  !  you  never  give  them  a  chance.  You  are  afraid  of 
the  bottle." 

"Not  afraid  —  only  non-committal." 

"  A  politician  even  in  your  liquors,  as  in  your  prayers." 

"  Truth.  I  give  myself  up  to  no  excess  in  either.  You  may 
fijifely  trust  that  Monongahela,  captain.  It  is  mild  with  age, 
and  gentle  in  degree  with  its  purity." 

"  What  say  you  then  to  a  stoup  together  of  equal  measure  ? 
Approve  your  eulogium  by  your  own  practice." 

"  Ah  !  if  I  dared  ;  but  I  have  not  the  head  for  it."     ' 

"  Pshaw  !  you  have  head  enough  for  anything.     As  for  any 


300  THE   FORAYERS. 

danger  to  your  head  from  anything  that  both  of  us  could  drink, 
I  should  say  it  was  impossible.  Your  head  is  as  stubborn  as 
mine,  as  capable  of  endurance; — nay,  more  so;  only  try  it; 
have  faith  in  yourself,  and  yield  up  a  trifle  more  of  your  life  to 
the  follies  of  it.  After  all,  there  are  rr.dMierits  when  I  fancy 
that  drinking  is  one  of  the  best  panaceas  for  t:\uHe.  If  I 
had  my  attic  full  of  that  old  Madeira  which  the  parish  gentry 
soak  daily,  I  should  perhaps  give  myself  no  trouble  about  the 
workings  of  my  own  brain,  or  that  of  my  neighbors." 

"  That  fierce  old  baron,  Sinclair,  is  said  to  have  his  attic  full 
to  overflowing  of  the  oldest  in  the  country." 

This  was  spoken  with  unwonted  abruptness  for  so  delicate  a 
speaker.  But  Travis  was  on  his  guard.  He  answered  care 
lessly,  and  with  great  indifference  of  manner. 

"  So  I  hear  !  He  has  wealth  enough  for  it.  But  his  case  is 
A  warning  against  old  Madeira.  He  has  a  pipe  of  it  in  his 
legs  —  gout-casks  —  which  he  can'«tap,  and  wouldn't  willingly 

cany.*' 

"  But  the  Madeira  is  a  gout-remedy." 

"  So  the  fools  say  !  It  is  the  disease  itself.  The  gout,  like 
most  of  the  diseases  of  rich  men,  comes  out  of  the  kitchen  and 
the  cellar." 

"  Nay,  we  know  that  it  is  hereditary." 

"  Ah !  that  sounds  authoritative ;  but  you  are  nearer  the 
mark  to  say  that  habits  are  hereditary.  The  son  is  apt  to  live 
as  his  father  taught  him,  and  to  suffer  from  the  same  sauces 
They  both  spice  the  broth  after  an  hereditary  measure,  and  havt 
hereditary  puncheons  in  their  pegs,  accordingly.  Catch  the 
spawn  of  the  old  fish,  and  transplant  to  other  waters,  if  you 
would  take  out  of  their  scales  the  taint  of  the  old  mud.  I 
doubt  if  you-  ever  knew  a  son  who  was  rescued  from  his  father's 
examples,  before  he  is  able  to  perceive  them,  who  ever  exhibited 
his  father's  infirmities,  physical  or  moral." 

Inglehardt  seemed  to  muse,  and  fingered  and  tapped  his 
snuff-box,  and  fed  his  nostrils  tenderly ;  then  wiped  his  upper 
lip  with  an  easy  gesture,  restored  his  'kerchief  to  his  pocket, 
and  said — all  of  a  sudden:  — 

"  You*  have  tasted  of  old  Sinclair's  winel" 

This  was  said  carelessly,  though  quickly      Travis  in  a  mo" 


A    PAIR   OF   ARCADIANS.  301 

that  it  meant  really — "I  know  that  you  have 
bee/i  10  see  him  lately."  He  perceived  the  snare.  He  saw 
.  thac  any  effort  at  evasion  would  involve  him  in  deeper  suspicion  , 
he  determined  upon  a  frank  manner,  at  all  events,  and  as  free 
a  revelation  of  the  truth  as  he  deemed  it  good  policy  to  make 
These  reflections  cost  him  not  a  moment ;  and  he  replied  : — 

"That  I  have,  and  first-rate  liquor  it  is.  It  deserves  its  rep 
utation.  I  paid  the  old  soldier  a  visit  some  five  weeks  ago  — 
bought  a  hundred  beeves  of  him  —  and  he  very  civilly  insisted 
upcu  my  dining  with  him  —  was  very  gracious,  indeed,  and 
gave  me  of  the  best.  The  bottles  he  put  on  the  table  were 
crushed  with  cobwebs.  The  wine  was  then  twenty-nine  years 
old.  He  mentioned,  with  a  chuckle,  that  my  Lords  Rawdon 
and  Fitzgerald,  had  brought  up  bottom,  after  earnest  soundings 
from  no  less  than  a  score  of  bottles  in  one  evening." 

The  wily  Inglehardt  was  baffled. 

"  How  the  d — 1 !"  thought  Travis  to  himself,  "  did  he  get  at 
that  visit?  I  had  taken  every  precaution  !" 

Of  course,  he  knew,  from  the  question  of  Inglehardt,  that  he 
had  made  the  discovery.  The  only  mode  left  him  was  to  an 
ticipate  exposure  by  frankness,  and  disarm  it.  He  could  not 
disarm  suspicion ;  but  he  might  baffle  evidence. 

"  Ah  !  my  Lords  Rawdon  and  Fitzgerald.  So  Fitzgerald  has 
been  there  !  That  must  have  been  just  when  I  was  laid  on  my 
back  by  this  troublesome  wound.  No  dsubt  they  relished  the- 
old  fellow's  wine.  They  can't  get  such  wine  in  England." 

"  No,  indeed ;  Carolina's  the  region  for  the  ripening  of  Ma 
deira.  Zounds,  my  lips  smack  of  its  flavor  at  the  very  recollec 
tion.  I  wish  I  had  a  thousand  bottles  of  it  —  the  contents  of 
his  garret  would  probably  yield  quite  as  many." 

"  And  why  should  you  not,  Captain  Travis  ?" 

"  How  should  I  ?  —  I'd  like  to  know  the  process." 

"  It  is  an  easy  one  when  the  work  of  confiscation  becomes 
general,  and  spreads  a  little  more  from  the  seaboard  into  the 
interior." 

"  Ah  !  but  how  will  it  affect  him  \  Why,  he  is  as  fierce  and 
stubborn  a  loyalist  as  any  in  the  country." 

"  Words  !  words  !  Do  you  suppose  that  his  mere  profession 
of  loyalty  will  sav,  his  estates,  in  the  teeth  of  his  son's  active 


THE   FORAYERS. 

rebellion  ?  Will  his  majesty's  government  suffer  his  estates  to 
fa1!  into  the  hands  of  the  rebel,  simply  because  his  father  •»«•" 
fessed  a  fidelity  which  he  did  not  sustain  in  any  other  w*  v 
I  see  no  reason  why  the  Sinclair  Barony  should  not  fall  inti 
the  general  stock,  and  reward  some  true  subject  who  has  shown 
himself  in  deeds,  as  well  as  words." 

"  Truly,  if  such  be  the  prospect  before  us,  the  pickings  will 
he  considerable.  The  old  Barony  would  cut  up  famously,  l^n 
old  Sinclair  is  strong  with  Rawdon  and  Balfour,  and  I  suspect 
tV-e  property  will  all  be  covered  by  the  name  of  the  daugn- 
ter." 

"  Well,  she  will  reward  some  good  loyalist  who  has  carried 
a  sword  in  action,  for  his  active  services.  Somehow,  the  prop 
erty  must  go  into  the  proper  hands.  The  only  doubt  reallv  i* 
about  the  issue  of  the  war." 

"  But  can  that  be  doubtful  ?" 

Nobody  better  knew  how  doubtful  was  the  result  than  the 
speaker ;  in  fact,  he  was  chiefly  occupied  at  this  very  moment, 
in  preparing  against  this  doubt.  But  he  knew  that  Inglehardt 
was  sounding  him.  It  was  the  cue  of  Travis  to  make  the  other 
believe  that  he  himself  had  no  sort  of  question  that  the  British 
arms  would  be  successful.  The  policy  of  Inglehardt  depended 
upon  this  success ;  and,  as  most  persons  can  easily  be  persuaded 
of  what  they  wish,  Travis  took  for  granted  that,  though  he 
seemed  to  intimate  a  doubt  of  the  final  issue,  he  yet  felt  none. 
Still,  Inglehardt  was  not  unwilling  to  suggest  to  liis  companion 
the  fear  which  he  hardly  felt  himself.  He  replied : — 

"  There's  'no  saying.  Troops  do  not  arrive  with  sufficient 
rapidity  from  England." 

"  Three  fresh  Irish  regiments  only  the  other  day,"  answered 
the  other. 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  meant  for  this  colony  —  designed  for  Virginia, 
and  only  permitted  to  be  used  by  Lord  Rawdon  temporarily, 
in  the  necessity  of  relieving  Ninety-Six.  Then,  you  see,  these 
Irish  troops  are  not  to  be  relied  on.  The  moment  they  get  an 
opportunity  they  desert  and  join  the  rebels.  They  entertain 
no  love  for  the  British  flag.  No !  our  best  chances  depend 
upon  the  loyal  Americans,  and  they  come  in  very  slowly  now. 
Here  have  I  been  recruiting  for  a  month,  and  have  succeeded 


A   PAIR   OF   ARCADIAN'S.  303 

in  picking  up  only  sixteen  raw.  fellows,  hardly  worth  their  salt. 
Things,  I  fear,  begin  to  look  suspicious." 

This  was  said  with  great  gravity  and  deliberation,  and  a  melan 
choly  shaking  of  the  head.  But  Travis  knew  his  man.  "He  hopes," 
such  was  his  mental  reflection,  "to  win  me  on  to  let  out  my  own 
calculation.  But  I  know  better  than  to  commit  myself  to  him  by 
declaring  my  true  conviction.  No,  no,  Master  Inglehardt,  you  don't 
catch  this  weasel  asleep !"  Then,  aloud,  and  with  some  show  of 
disquiet : — 

"  Pshaw  !  Captain  Inglehardt,  you  are  in  a  croaking  humor  to-day. 
You  surprise  me  by  such  notions.  As  for  Great  Britain  lacking 
troops,  or  being  compelled  to  rely  upon  native  Americans,  that  seems 
to  me  one  of  the  idlest  fancies  in  the  world.  Our  loyalist  troops  are 
but  a  drop  in  the  bucket." 

"By  Jupiter!  Captain  Travis,  they  are  pretty  much  all  that 
are  worth  having  in  the  bucket.  Look  how  the  British  armies 
are  now  made  up.  The  veteran  troops  are  nearly  all  American. 
The  Hessians  are  pretty  much  used  up  ;  the  Scotch  regiments 
are  not  half  full ;  the  Irish  desert  when  they  can,  are  perpetu 
ally  mutinying,  their  officers  dare  not  rely  upon  them,  and 
tremble,  when  they  go  into  action,  lest  their  own  bayonets 
should  be  the  first  at  their  bosoms.  Half  of  Lord  Rawdon's 
force  at  Camden  were  loyalists ;  of  the  thousand  men  of  Fergu 
son,  that  gave  up  to  the  mountaineers,  at  King's  mountain,  more 
than  nine  hundred  were  American  born.  And  who  but  native 
Americans  have  kept  the  post  of  '  Ninety-six,'  under  Cruger,  so 
long  against  the  whole  of  the  rebel  army  of  Greene  ?  I  tell  you, 
Captain  Travis,  that  the  forces  of  Great  Britain,  now  in  the  South, 
would  be  swallowed  up  everywhere,  but  for  the  rifles  of  our  own 
people." 

"And  if  this  be  so,  Captain  Inglehardt — which  I  am  very 
far  from  admitting — what  better  proof  can  we  have  of  the 
ultimate  success  of  our  cause  ?  If,  keeping  her  own  powers  in 
reserve,  Great  Britain  can  so  direct  the  resources  supplied  by 
the  loyal  population,  as  to  keep  the  rebels  in  subjection,  do  you  not 
see  that  she  can,  at  any  moment,  achieve  the  fullest  results  of  victory, 
by  only  a  slight  increase  of  the  foreign  forces  ?" 

"  Ay,  but  has  she  kept  her  own  forces  in  reserve  ?  Has  she 
not  employed  them  to  the  uttermost?  Why  did  she  need  to 


$04  THE   FORAYERS. 

hire  and  buy  the  Hessians  ?  Clearly,  because  her  own  peo 
ple  hi  eked  numbers,  or  were  reluctant  to  join  the  war.  The 
Scotch  are  not  a  numerous  people.  England  herself  cut  oft'  too 
l:ir.«>;e  a  proportion  of  the  Highland  Scotch,  not  to  feel  the  want 
jf  them  now.  The  Irish  are  unfaithful  and  not  to  be  trusted. 
What  then  ?  She  now  depends  upon  them,  chiefly,  as  the  re 
served  powers  of  which  you  speak;  and  these,  with  our  na 
tive  Americans,  constitute  all  her  strength  here  at  present. 
When  you  add  to  this,  that  the  drain  upon  the  British  treasury 
for  six  years,  will  hardly  now  suffer  her  to  hire  more  troops,  or 
even  pay  those  who  are  in  arms  at  present,  you  will  see  that  I 
have  some  good  reasons  for  holding  the  present  issue  doubtful." 

Now,  Inglehardt  had  truly  painted  the  condition  of  Great 
Britain,  the  exhaustion  equally  of  her  men  and  money  j  but, 
strange  to  say,  he  did  not  himself  fully  believe  in  the  extent  of 
the  danger  as  he  described  it;  he  believed  still  only  as  he 
wished ;  but  his  subtle  policy  was  to  persuade  Travis  that  he 
himself  was  beginning  to  be  affected  by  those  arguments,  which 
he  had  reason  to  think  had  been  already  adopted  by  Travis, 
of  his  own  reasoning.  If  Travis,  now,  should  only  be  so  far 
deluded  into  the  notion  that  he,  Inglehardt,  like  himself,  was 
beginning  to  meditate  how  best  to  prepare  for  the  backdoor  of 
retreat  —  and,  thus  persuaded,  should  let  something  of  his  own 
meditations  to  this  effect  be  seen,  he  should  secure  such  further 
hold  upon  the  father  of  Bertha  Travis,  as  would  most  effectual 
ly  place  him  in  his  power. 

But  the  old  politician  was  not  so  easily  gulled.  He  laughed 
at  the  gloomy  picture  which  the  other  had  painted  of  the  future. 

"No  !"  said  he,  "  Great  Britain  is  like  a  rock  against  which 
all  the  waves  of  rebellion,  though  numerous  as  billows  of  the 
Atlantic,  would  chafe  and  beat  in  vain.  The  mother-country 
is  only  economical  of  her  resources.  She  has  adopted  the  true 
policy  of  making  us  fight  the  battle  with  as  little  cost  to  her 
self  as  possible.  When  it  is  necessary  to  put  forth  her  strength 

—  her  men  and  money  —  they  will  not  be  wanting.     Do  not  de 
spond,  Inglehardt.     There  is  nothing  to  fear  —  nothing  to  doubt 

—  there  is  no  danger  that  the  rebel  power  will  ever  succeed. 
As  you  yourself  have' shown,  the  native  loyalists  have  proved 
iuihj  a  sufficient  match,  almost  alone,  for  the  native   rebel? 


A  PAIR  OF  ARCADIANS,  305 

One  error  the  British  government  has  made,  and  that,  indeed, 
is  a  serious  one,  because  so  full  of  injustice.  It  is  a  wonder, 
indeed,  that  it  has  not  worked  for  her  the  most  mischievous 
results." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"She  expects  us  to  find  her  the  troops,  yet  refuses  to  let  us 
find  the  general  officers.  At  best,  all  that  our  distinguished 
young  men  can  get  from  her,  is  a  colonelcy,  a  majority,  a  cap 
taincy.  They  are  not  trusted  as  generals  of  brigade  or  division 
— have  few  discretionary  trusts  confided  to  them ;  yet  could  I 
pick  out  a  score  or  two  of  natives,  of  this  one  province,  who  are 
far  better  fitted  to  plan  a  pitched  battle  than  half  that  are  now 
in  command  in  the  British  armies.  This  is  a  blind  policy.  It 
is  the  one  which  Britain  pursued  all  through  the  French  and 
Indian  wars,  and  it  cost  us  immense  loss  in  blood  and  treasure. 
It  has  cost  us  this  very  rebellion,  which  never  would  have 
taken  place  in  the  South,  had  not  our  own  able  men  been  every 
where  thrust  upon  the  shelves.  Why,  for  example,  should  you, 
remain  five  years  a  captain  only,  when  such  persons  as  Barry, 
and  Sheridan,  Mad  Campbell,  Fool  Campbell,  Bulldog  Campbell, 
and  Weasel  Campbell,  all  take  higher  rank.  I  know  you,  and 
so  do  they;  and  they  know,  as  I  do,  that  you  are  better  fitted 
for  a  colonelcy  of  foot  or  dragoons  than  any  one  of  these  people. 
Yet,  after  all  your  services,  for  six  years,  you  are  just  in  the 
same  position  as  when  you  brought  your  own  company  into  camp. 
If  they  could  have  taken  your  captaincy  from  you,  without  dis 
couraging  all  the  loyalists,  do  you  suppose  that  it  would  not  have  been 
given  to  some  favorite,  some  younger  son  of  an  old  house,  who  was 
found  too  troublesome,  or  expensive  at  home  ?  Certainly,  this  policy 
has  done  more  toward  keeping  back  the  royal  cause  from  triumph, 
than  anything  besides." 

The  speech  of  Travis  was  an  adroit  one.  It  was,  in  some 
degree,  turning  the  tables  upon  his  companion,  insinuating  an 
argument,  ad  hominem,  which,  in  a  case  of  even  moderate  self- 
esteem,  might  be  found  to  tell.  In  other  respects,  the  remarks 
of  the  speaker  betrayed  such  perfect  confidence  in  the  power  of 
Great  Britain  to  effect  the  final  conquest  of  the  country,  that  it 
threw  Inglehardt  off  from  the  chase  of  the  one  idea  he  had  pur 
sued,  though  it  did  by  no  means  persuade  him  to  any  faith  in 


80B  THE    FORAYlL'RS. 

Le  honesty  of  tho  speaker  in  the  professions  he  had  made.  AM 
for  the  adroit  appeal  to  his  own  pride,  in  the  reference  to  the 
neglect  oi  native  merit,  and  its  slow  promotion,  the  bait  did  nol 
take;  though,  we  may  add,  sub  rosa,  that  Inglehardt  had  been 
laboring  secretly  —  (was  it  a  secret  to  Travis?) — for  a  higher 
command,  and  had  found  his  wishes  invariably  set  aside,  in 
favor  of  some  young  springald,  of  famous  blood,  and  broken 
fortunes,  from  the  mother-country.  He  felt  the  truth  of  what 
Travis  urged  accordingly ;  but  it  failed  of  its  effect,  in  disarm 
ing  him  of  his  suspicions  of  the  speaker,  simply  because  he  felt 
that  the  point  was  urged  with  the  evident  purpose  to  act  upon 
himself.  The  wily  man  will  distrust  every  argument,  however 
true  and  just,  which  he  feels  to  be  suggested  with  a  specific 
purpose,  which  is  yet  not  openly  avowed. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  somewhat  musingly,  and  feeding  his  nostrils 
again  from  the  snuff-box  —  "I  am  glad  that  you  think  so  well 
of  our  general  prospect.  I  confess  that  I  had  some  misgivings, 
But  what  you  say  seems  reasonable  enough.  It  is  clearly  the 
policy  of  Great  Britain  to  fight  the  rebels  at  as  little  cost  of 
men  and  money  as  she  can.  I  only  hope  that  she  may  not  car 
ry  her  economy  too  far.  War  is  an  expensive  luxury  in  which 
one  can  not  exercise  a  very  nice  economy.  Men  wish  to  be 
paid  well  for  the  privilege  of  being  shot  and  bayoneted.  It  is 
only  the  gold  in  the  pouch  that  reconciles  one  to  the  prospect 
of  lead  in  the  paunch.  As  for  this  army  favoritism,  you  may 
be  right  in  some  degree,  Captain  Travis.  There  is  quite  too 
much  of  it.  In  respect  to  myself,  why,  I  certainly  should  not 
quarrel  with  his  majesty's  seal  to  a  commission  making  me  ma 
jor  of  brigade,  or  giving  me  an  independent  legion.  The  thing 
lias  certainly  occurred  to  me,  but  more  as  a  something  I  had  a 
right  to  expect,  than  because  of  any  earnest  desire  that  I  have 
for  it.  But,  as  a  poor  captain  of  rangers,  I  am  not  uncomforta 
ble.  It  is  a  snug  command,  easily  managed,  and,  if  I  have  only 
a  small  trust,  I  am  relieved  from  all  heavy  responsibilities.  If 
I  receive  no  favors,  I  am  at  least  not  burdened  with  the  sense 
of  obligation.  The  neglect  of  my  services  does  not  mortify  me 
to  a  loss  of  my  appetite." 

'•  You  are  more  philosophical  than  I  should  be— than  most 


A   PAIR   OF   ARCADIANS.  307 

persons  are,"  answered  the  other.     "  I  am  glad  that  I  have  sur 
vived  all  rny  military  ambition." 

"  Yes — but  you  have  not  survived  all  your  appetites"  replied 
the  other,  with  a  smile  which  was  something  of  a  sneer  — 
"  Your  ambition  is  more  modest,  captain,  than  some  of  your 
other  passions.  A  commissariat  is  not  a  bad  sphere  for  making 
friends  with  fortune.  In  truth,  such  is  my  modesty,  that  I  do 
not  know  but  I  should  be  willing  to  exchange  places  with 
you." 

"  You  would  soon  sicken  of  it,"  answered  Travis,  somewhat 
hastily. 

"  Never,  because  of  surfeit,"  replied  Inglehardt.  "  But  I  do 
not  quarrel  with  your  good  fortune.  I  keep  in  mind  the  fact 
that  your  operations,  with  your  economy,  must  all  result  in  the 
prosperity  of  your  future  son-in  law." 

"  Bertha  Travis  will  be  in  comfortable  circumstances  should 
anything  happen  to  me,"  replied  the  affectionate  fathe,,  some 
what  evasively. 

"Why,  Captain  Travis,  she  will  be  a  millionaire.  Talk 
of  comfortable  circumstances,  indeed  !  I  would  venture  to  say 
that,  by  the  time  this  rebellion  is  crushed,  you  will  be  one  of 
the  richest  men  in  the  province." 

"  Pshaw  !  you  talk  wildly.  Only  comfortable  —  comfortable  ! 
A  moderate  estate,  which,  well  managed,  will  enable  a  small 
family  to  live  independently." 

"  No  more  ?  Well,  fortunately,  Bertha  Travis  herself  is  one 
of  those  treasures  which  would  sufficiently  reconcile  me  to  such 
a  moderate  prospect  of  fortune.  By-the-way,  Travis,  this  thing 
drags  a  little  too  heavily.  Though  apt  to  take  most  things 
coolly,  yet  I  confess,  in  the  matter  of  the  affections,  I  am 
rather  an  eager,  impatient  person." 

And  the  speaker  uttered  these  words  even  more  deliberately 
and  drawlingly  than  usual,  and  resorted  to  his  snuffbox,  slowly 
tapping  it  first,  then  segregating,  with  the  thumb  and  forefinger, 
the  smallest  possible  particles  from  the  mass,  and  feeding  with 
it,  as  a  young  lady  would  feed  canary  or  humming  bird,  the 
Rightly  reddened  tips  of  his  sharply-elongated  nose. 

Travis  thought  to  himself:  -"  Now  d— n  the  skunk,  does  he 
expect  me  to  believe,  or  does  lie  himself  believe,  that  he  has 


308  THE   FORAYER8. 

got  any  warm  blood  in  his  veins  !  He  impatient  !  By  Heavens, 
an  ounce  of  impatience  in  hjs  blood  would  prove  of  letter  uso 
to  himself  and  to  all  other  persons,  than  all  the  virtues  in  his 
c.lrcass." 

But  Travis  did  not  venture  to  speak  aloud  such  "  parlously" 
offensive  matter.  The  reflection  was  instantaneous,  and  did 
not  prevent  him  from  a  sufficiently  prompt  reply. 

"  It.  is  not  my  fault,  Inglehardt,  that  the  affair  drags  so 
slowly." 

"I  am  afraid,  my  dear  fellow,  that  it  ts  your  fault." 

"  How  1  I  have  done  all  that  I  could.  T  have  urged  your 
tause  to  Bertha " 

"  No,  Travis,  you  have  not  done  all  that  you  could ;  and 
there  are  such  modes  of  urging  a  cause  as  infallibly  to  defeat 
it." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  accuse  me  of  bad  faith,  Inglehardt?" 

"  Not  exactly  that !  1  flatter  myself,  that,  putting  out  of 
sight  altogether  what  is  evidently  your  preference  and  policy, 
I  possess  certain  securities  for  your  good  faith,  the  value  of 
which  no  one  better  knows  than  yourself.  Now,  I  feel  sure 
that  you  are  not  heedless  of  these  securities,  and  I  could  almost 
persuade  myself  that,  apart  from  these,  your  policy  perceives, 
in  my  union  with  Bertha  Travis,  the  greatest  advantages  to 
both.  Let  her  once  be  mine,  and  our  united  strength  renders 
us  both  secure,  and  enables  us  to  work  with  more  confidence 
upon  the  British  authorities.  Then,  indeed,  I  might  secure 
tliis  colonelcy  —  assuming  it  to  be  an  object  of  real  importance 
and  desire ;  and,  instead  of  a  mere  deputy  commissary,  you 
might  pass  into  the  department  as  its  head.  Why  will  you 
not  see  these  advantages  as  I  do  ?" 

"  I  do  see  them  —  I  am  certainly  not  blind." 

"  Hardly  with  open  eyes,  Travis,  or  you  would  do  something 
more  for  their  promotion." 

"  I  do  all  that  I  can.  I  have  urged  your  -jlaims  upon  Ber 
tha." 

"  Ay,  you  have  said  — '  This  man  seeks  you,  and  I  could  wish 
that  you  would  be  pleased  to  see  in  him  a  marvellous  proper, 
person.'  That  is  all;  is  that  urging  my  claims?  Look  you,  my 
amiable  father-in-law,  that  is  to  be  —  ought  to  be,  at  least  — 


A    .  -  IB   O*    ^EADIANS.  809 

and  will  be,  if  he  knows  where  wisdom  and  safety  lie  together, 
— look  you  —  is  this  the  time,  or  is  yours  the  situation,  when 
you  can  suffer  the  tastes  and  prejudices  of  a  silly  young  girl, 
nat  as  yet  knows  nothing,  to  pule  about  her  heart,  and  her  af 
fections,  and  all  that  stuff?  Shall  the  plans,  the  schemes,  the 
fortunes  —  nay,  the  very  safety  —  of  men,  be  jeoparded  by  such 
absurd  pleadings?  She  does  not  love  me; — well?  In  all 
your  experiences  of  the  sex,  how  many  of  them  have  loved 
wisely  ?  —  how  many  have  married  where  they  did  not  honestly 
love,  and  yet  passed  a  very  comfortable  life  of  it  ?  Why  should 
Bertha  Travis  not  love  me  ?  I  am  not  an  Adonis,  true ;  but  I 
have  tolerably  comely  proportions.  Do  you  not  suppose  that 
I  will  make  her  quite  as  happy  —  to  talk  in  the  ridiculous  dia 
lect  of  vulgar  people  —  as  that  insolent  fellovv  Sinclair?  I  am 
not  brutal  of  habit,  arn  not  a  profligate  liver,  have  my  tastes,  as 
you  know  —  nay,  pride  myseK  "  littlf1  upA".  them  —  have  had 
a  very  tolerable  education,  and  believe  that  I  can  carry 
myseli  qiule  as  much  as  a  gentleman,  as  any  aristocrat  in  th» 
parishes.  You  do  not  believe  —  I  know  —  that  there  is  any 
prospect  of  your  daughter  forfeiting  the  usual  amount  of  human 
happiness  in  becoming  my  wife?" 

It  was  delightful  to  note  the  cool  deliberate  sweetness 
with  which  all  this  was  spoken  —  slowly,  softly,  and  sprinkled 
with  the  finest  of  Scotch  snuff,  in  frequent  parentheses. 
Travis  was  getting  uneasy.  He  was  not  an  impulsive  man,  but 
he  had  more  ardor,  and  was  more  impatient  than  his  antagonist,, 
to  whom  this  difference  gave  a  decided  advantage.  He  ai> 
bwered :  — 

"  No  !  no  !  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  make  my  claugh 
ter  as  happy  as  anybody  else;  and  I  have  urge'3,  upon  her 
these  very  arguments.  I  have  counselled,  entreated,  argued  the 
matter  with  her " 

11  A  moment,  my  dear  Travis,  a  moment.  This  is  going  over 
old  ground.  You  have  told  me  of  these  pleas  and  arguments 
before  Of  course  they  did  not  convince  Bertha  Travis,  and 
of  course,  also,  they  do  not  satisfy  me.  She  is  a  young  damsel, 
who  has  had  very  much  her  own  way,  and  is  tickled  just  now 
with  certain  girlish  fancies,  which  persuade  her  that  one  Willie 
Sinclair,  majov  of  dragoons  in  the  rebel  service,  is  the  only  true 


310  THti 

God  in  the  heaven  of  a  young  girl's  heart.  Now,  «i  young 
woman  s  fancy,  having  such  a  tickler,  is  not  prepared  to  listen 
to  an  old  man's  prosing  philosophies,  meant  to  persuade  her  into 
quite  another  sort  of  fancy  for  another  sort  of  man.  No  !  no ! 
no  argument  of  man,  however  wise  in  reason  and  profound  in 
policy,  could  ever  hold  its  ground,  or  make  any  impression, 
against  a  young  girl's  fancy.  Her  fancy,  my  dear  good  Travis, 
becomes  her  religion.  She  has  no  other  faith  for  the  time  being 

—  not  till  she  gets   a  new  fancy,  potent  enough  to  push  the  old 
one  from  its  place," 

"Why,  what  would  you  have  me  to  do?  I  have  tried  — 
I  have  told  her " 

"  Suffer  me  again,  my  dear  captain.  Suppose  that,  instead 
of  a  dozen,  you  had  urged  these  arguments  upon  her  a  thousand 
times  ?  What  then  ?  Do  you  deceive  yourself  with  the  notion 
that  a  mere  repetition,  however  frequently  made,  of  an  argu 
ment,  or  a  plea,  which  the  ear  of  the  hearer  refuses  to  receive, 
will  avail  you  anything  more  than  a  single  urging?  The  mere 
repetition  of  a  plea  or  a  petition,  which  was  held  to  be  distaste* 
ful  at  the  first,  only  renders  it  more  and  more  distasteful  as  you 
continue  to  urge  i£" 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

"Have  you  told  her,  sir — that  this  marriage  is  necessary  to 
your  safety  ?  That,  unless  it  takes  place,  her  father  is  in  danger 
of  being  punished  as  a  swindler,  as  a  forger  of  false  accounts, 
as  a  speculator  of  the  public  moneys,  as,  in  short,  a  traitor  to 
the  cause  of  his  majesty,  George  the  Third,  king  of  Great  Bri 
tain,  France,  and  Ireland,  defender  of  the  faith,  &c.  Have 
you  told  her  this,  Captain  Travis  ?" 

Now  fancy  all  this  matter  delivered  with  the  utmost  deliber 
ation,  quietly,  even  gently,  in  the  softest  tones,  and  without  a 
single  passage  or  word  being  emphasized,  in  obedience  to  the 
requisition  of  its  own  import.  Fancy  all  this,  if  you  would 
conceive  the  cold,  stern,  deliberate,  strategic  nature  of  Richard 
Inglehardt.  No  wonder  that  a  cold  sweat  stood  upon  the  fore 
head  of  Captain  Travis  as  he  listened. 

But  Travis  was  a  man  of  passions.  He  had  a  quickening 
pulse  —  Was  not  without  pride  —  was  a  father,  and  a  fond  one 

—  though,  no  doubt,  a  great  rascal  —  and  lie  irked  great. ;   *t 


A    I  AIR   OF    ARCADIANS.  811 

'Me  cold  remorseless  tyranny  of  the  man  who  had  him  in  his 
fower —  he,  too,  tht  son  of  his  overseer  ! 

He  started  from  his  seat,  and  strode  across  the  room,  his  lips 
white  with  rage. 

"  No !  Captain  Inglehardt.  I  have  told  her  none  of  these 
things,  for  I  believe  none  of  them  —  I  hold  none  of  them  to  be 
true." 

"  Ah  !  my  friend,  you  are  rash  now.  You  are  surely  forgetful 
of  all  your  reason  and  experience.  I  do  not  wish  to  wound 
your  pride,  or  rouse  your  passion.  My  appeal  is  to  your  com- 
mon  sense !" 

"  D — n  common  sense." 

"As  you  please  —  after  you  have  heard.  Now  do  me  the 
kindness  to  examine  these  papers.  You  need  not  be  angry  with 
them,  and  seek  to  destroy  them  —  or  you  may  —  it  matters  not. 
They  are  only  copies.  You  will  find  there  some  memoranda 
which  would  be  of  considerable  interest  to  Colonel  Balfour  in 
the  future  discussion  of  your  accounts.  You  will  see  that  the 
facts  can  all  be  established  by  good  witnesses.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  I  am  in  possession  of  all  tKe  facts,  and  all  the  clues,  to 
your  transactions  for  government  during  the  last  three  years. 
I  need  not  add  to  a  gentleman  of  such  clear  understanding  as 
yourself,  that  these  proofs,  laid  before  either  of  the  generals  of 
the  crown  would  lead  to  the  confiscation  of  other  estates  than 
those  of  old  Sinclair.  I  gave  you  a  proof  of  these  papers  on  a 
previous  occasion,  my  dear  Travis.  Why  will  you  force  me  * 
idle  reiteration." 

All  this  was  articulated  with  admirable  slowness,  softness, 
and  subdued  manner,  while  a  most  gentle  smile  lighted  up  the 
amiable  eyes  of  the  speaker.  But  the  speech  did  not  much 
mitigate  the  'indignation  of  Travis.  He  snatched  the  proffered 
papers  from  the  hands  of  the  speaker,  dashed  them  on  the  floor, 
and  stamped  them  under  feet,  saying,  as  he  did  so : — 

"  Ay,  sir,  but  you  used  no  such  offensive  language  when  you 
spoke  of  tin's  matter  before.  You  spoke  of  it  only  as  certain 
mistakes  and  miscalculations  in  my  accounts,  and  never  dared  to 
apply  such  epithets  to  my  name  as  you  have  just  now.  Now, 
Captain  Inglehardt,  I  give  you  to  know  that  though  fifty  years 
of  age — twice  your  age,  sir — I  have  not  lost  the  capacity,  01 


312  THE   FOBAYERS. 

survived  the  spirit,  which  would  resent  or  punish  )ffence.  You 
presume,  sir,  on  a  fancied  power,  to  offer  insult.  But,  beware, 
sir  !  Another  repetition  of  this  offence,  and  the  terms  between 
us  must  be  blood  —  sir  —  blood  !— your  blood  or  mine." 

^nglehardt  listened  to  this  outburst  with  amazing'  cairn.  He 
sniffed  at  the  snuff  while  the  other  Avas  speaking  and 'kerchiefed 
hisnose  with  praiseworthy  care  and  deliberation.  When  Travis 
ceased,  he  answered  in  the  sweetest  temper : — 

"  My  dear  captain,  you  are  unnecessarily  angry.  I  had  no 
purpose  to  make  you  so.  As  for  the  issue  which  you  threaten, 
I  have  only  to  pray  that  when  the  storm  comes  I  may  have  a 
dry  roof  over  me.  But  pistols  will  hardly  be  taken  in  evidence 
against  the  truth ;  pistols  will  do  little  to  settle  my  accounts 
with  you,  or  yours  with  the  crowu.  You  may  judge  for  your 
self,  by  a  single  moment  of  reflection,  of  what  avail  they  will  be 
here  between  us,  and  in  the  adjustment  of  our  little  differences. 
Either  what  I  say  is  true,  or  it  is  not.  If  not  true,  you  have 
only  to  defy  the  charge,  and  concede  nothing  that  I  demand  in 
the  belief  that  it  is  true.  If  true,  and  the  matter  should  involve 
your  safety  in  any  wise,  as  I  most  respectfully  think  it  does, 
then  you  know  the  terms  upon  which,  alone,  the  evidence  is  to 
be  suppressed.  Suffer  me  to  repeat  them.  You  are  within 
three  weeks  to  possess  me  of  the  hand  of  your  daughter.  I 
care  not  what  arguments  you  use  —  I  but  suggested  to  you  such 
as  you  might  use,  and  such  as  would  probably  prove  effectual 
—  and  leave  it  to  you  to  find  better  if  you  can.  Once  more  — 
your  daughter's  hand  to  be  mine  in  three  weeks,  sir  —  three 
weeks,  Captain  Travis  !  Three  weeks  may  be  held  a  liberal 
term  of  time,  added  to  a  negotiation  which  has  been  in  progress 
nearly  three  years,  in  all  which  time,  sir,  I  have  been  in  pos 
session  of  many  other  little  proofs  of  errors  in  your  accounts 
which  I  have  foreborne  to  include  in  that  catalogue." 

The  whole  manner  of  this  speech  was  cruelly  civil,  moderate 
of  tone  —  even  gentle  —  and  so  very  deliberate  ! 

For  a  moment  Travis  glared  upon  the  speaker  with  eyes  of 
ill-suppressed  hostility.  But  he  tamed  himself  down,  with  a 
few  hurried  strides  about  the  room,  during  which  Inglehardt 
wonderfully  kept  his  composure  and  his  chair.  Suddenly  Travis 
atood  before  him. 


A    PAIR    OF    ARCAD'ANS.  313 

"  You  are  bent  on  driving  me  to  the  Avail,  Captain  Ingieliardt." 

"No,  sir  —  only  in  keeping  you  from  falling  under  the  wall 
I  so  admire  your  fortunes  and  the  prospect  before  you,  that  I 
would  unit..  .11  line  with  yours.  Why  will  you  persist  in  seeing 
anything  unfriendly  in  this  ?" 

"  Why  press  this  matter  just  now  ?  Why  not  wait  till  the 
war  is  over  ?" 

"  I  do  not  see  why  love  should  wait  on  war  a  single  moment. 
In  the  days  of  chivalry  they  went  hand  in  hand  together 
Shall  I  eat  no  sweets  to-day,  because  I  may  be  slain  in  battle  to 
morrow.  Nay,  is  not  that  very  danger  good  reason  why  I  should 
enjoy  my  sweets  to-night  ?  Because  nations  fight,  and  I  wear 
harness  like  the  rest,  shall  I  forswear  wiving  ;  or  shall  the  woman 
I  love  be  tutored  not  to  wed  me,  lest  I  never  come  home  from 
battle.  In  brief,  Captain  Travis,  I  have  resolved,  and  you 
know  to  what  extent.  You  have  my  ultimatum.  Briefly,  Avill 
you  pledge  me  the  hand  of  Bertha  Travis,  the  marriage  to  take 
effect  three  weeks  from  this  day  —  not  a  day  later.  Understand 
me,  it.  must  be  your  positive  pledge,  now  —  I  shall  not  be  con 
tent  with  any  promise  that  you  will  plead  to  her  again  after  the 
old  fashion.  Will  you  give  me  this  pledge1?" 

The  other  hurriedly  paced  the  room  in  silence.  He  felt  him- 
s°lf  in  the  toils;  but  he  had  a  refuge,  and  his  secret  thought  — 
that  of  the  veteran  politician  always — readily  suggested  that  to 
gain  time  was  to  gain  escape.  Three  weeks  embody  a  world 
of  possibilities.  The  domain  of  chance  is  always  a  refuge  to 
one  in  an  emergency.  Besides  —  he  had  his  own  schemes  — 
and  these  were  rapidly  ripening  to  fulfilment.  Three  weeks 
were  all  that  he  desired  for  these.  He  determined,  as  it  were 
desperately  ;  and,  turning  to  his  antagonist,  said  : — 

"  Captain  Ingieliardt,  you  hold  me  and  my  daughter  to  hard 
conditions.  You  may  be  a  good  man  and  may  prove  a  good 

husband,  but  by you  are  one  of  the  d — dest  cold-blooded 

tyrants  whom  I  know  !  But  enough  !  I  give  you  my  pledge. 
It  shall  be  as  you  say.  In  three  weeks !  I  yield,  sir.  You 
have  taken  an  ungenerous  advantage,  and  I  submit !  But  that 
shall  not  make  me  think  more  favorably  of  your  mind  and  heart 
You  are,  i"  repeat,  a  most  cold-blooded  and  deliberate  tyrant 
where  you  have  the  power !" 


THE    FORAYERS. 


The  other  smiled  with  satanic  sweetness. 

"  You  do  me  wrong,  Travis.  A  lover  is  justified  in  his  exac 
tions  in  due  degree  with  the  extremity  of  his  passion.  Come, 
sir!  let  us  drink  the  wedding-day  —  this  time,  i^  a  more  classi- 
cal  beverage  than  either  Jamaica  or  Monong«ueia.  Here,  sir, 
is  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira  —  not,  perhaps,  so  old  ag  that  of  Baron 
Sinclair's,  but  of  more  sterling  body." 

"  Thank  you,  no  !  I  will  not  drink  another  drop  with  you  to 
day  !  I  would  I  could  never  see  you  again,  Richard  Inglehardt 
—  never  !  never  !" 

The  other,  this  time,  laughed  —  and  such  a  short  choking 
laugh,  that  Travis  hastily  bade  him  good  day,  and  looking  still 
as  angry  as  ever,  darted  out  of  the  room. 

"  Remember  your  pledge,  Captain  Travis,"  the  other  called 
after  him,  almost  as  deliberately  as  ever  —  "Remember,  sir! 
Remember!" 

And  when  he  had  gone,  the  eyes  of  Inglehardt  darkened  into 
a  scowl  —  and  he  muttered  :  — 

"  I  have  him  Hinder  my  heel  —  have  her  at  my  mercy,  or  will 
have  her  —  and  we  shall  soon  see  who  shall  be  the  scorned  and 
who  the  scorner  ?  He  can  not  elude  me  —  can  not  escape  —  and 
he  knows  it  !  He  will  and  must  use  the  arguments  I  have  put 
into  his  mouth,  and  she  must  submit.  Ha  I  ha  !  She  shall  to 
the  altar,  or  he  to  the  halter  !" 


MEETING   OF   TuAYJn   AND   SINCLAIR. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

MEETING    OF    TRAVIS    AND    SINCLAIR. 

Sirrah,  go  up  and  wind  toward  Buckley's  lodge: 
I'll  cast  about  the  bottom  with  my  hound, 
And  I  will  meet  thee  under  Cony-oak." 

Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton. 

You  suppose,  no  doubt,  that  Travis  disappeared  from  the 
chamber  of  Inglehardt  in  a  towering  passion  —  that  he  was 
fairly  and  uncomfortably  cornered  —  driven  to  the  wall,  as  he 
himself  phrased  it !  Not  a  bit  of  it !  His  most  admirable 
effects  of  passion  were  all  simulated.  He  had  really  gained  a 
point  in  the  game.  His  policy  was  to  lull  his  antagonist  into 
the  belief  that  he  was  at  his  mercy  —  in  order  to  gain  the  very 
time  that  was  accorded  him.  His  vexation  and  rage  were 
meant  to  show  that  he  felt  himself  foiled,  detected,  exposed,  in 
danger ;  that  he  had  no  further  chance  of  escape,  or  means  of 
evasion  ;  and,  therefore,  that  his  surrender,  at  discretion,  was  a 
necessity,  which  he  honestly  acknowledged  and  submitted  to, 
however  unwillingly.  Of  course,  if  he  were  not  conquered, 
why  lose  his  temper  ?  If  he  had  any  other  weapons  of  argu 
ment  or  evasion,  why  use  his  tongue  —  why  hint  at  pistols? 
Briefly,  Travis,  however  apparently  chafed  and  excited  when 
he  left  his  antagonist,  was  really  quite  satisfied  with  the  result 
of  the  interview.  It  did  not  appear  that  Inglehardt  had  made 
any  neAv  discoveries  of  importance,  except  the  single  fact  of  his 
having  visited  old  Sinclair  and  dined  at  his  table ;  a  fact  which 
had  its  business  justification — public  business  too;  —  and,  in  re 
spect  to  all  this  affair,  Travis  flattered  himself  that  he  had  am- 
ply  baffled  the  inquisitor. 

Three  weeks  were  thus  gained !     Three  weeks,  at  this  par 
ticular  juncture,  and  with  such  plans  as  he  had  in  meditation 


THE  F011AYEBS.. 

ripening  rapidly  for  the  future,  were  an  eternity  !  They  prom 
ised  him  all  the  time  that  he  desired.  His  daughter  should  not 
be  sacrificed  to  such  a  cold-blooded  and  paltry  despot !  Travis 
loved  his  daughter,  we  may  state,  quite  as  fondly  as  it  was  in 
his  power  to  love  anything.  He  would  have  cheerfully  sacri 
ficed  his  wealth,  well  or  ill  acquired,  to  the  happiness  of  his 
two  children.  Let  this  be  taken  in  allowance,  as  a  human 
set-off  to  his  otherwise  slavish  propensity  t&  gain.  He  was 
still  capable  of  some  sacrifice  of  self  for  the  happiness  of  an 
other. 

Travis  had  a  room  at  Jack  Baltezegar's.  When  he  went 
thither,  from  the  chamber  of  Inglehardt,  he  found  certain  per 
sons  awaiting  him  on  business ;  for  he  still  acted,  it  must  be  re 
membered,  as  a  sort  of  sub-commissary  of  the  British  army  in 
Carolina.  He  dined  at  Baltezegar's  and  took  his  way  home 
ward  at  a  moderately  early  hour  in  the  afternoon.  He  had 
ridden  some  two  miles  after  crossing  the  Edisto  bridge,  when 
he  was  startled  by  discovering  a  stranger  suddenly  riding  out 
of  the  woods  on  his  left,  and  joining  him.  At  first,  lie  did  not 
recognise  the  new-comer,  till  the  voice  of  Willie  Sinclair  made 
him  known.  He  rejoiced  at  the  meeting.  This  interview  was 
a  necessary  part  of  those  maturing  plans,  by  which  Travis  cal 
culated  to  foil  the  cunning  and  the  treachery  of  Richard  Ingle 
hardt,  It  was  an  honest  welcome,  therefore,  that  he  gave  to 
our  major  of  dragoons  in  the  eager  speech : — 

"  Major  Sinclair,  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you." 

Travis  really  desired  to  see  his  daughter  the  wife  of  Sin 
clair.  He  honored  the  young  man  —  honored  his  family  posi 
tion,  and  was  right  well  pleased  that  his  daughter's  affections 
squared  so  happily  with  his  own  projects  and  desires.  The 
meeting  seemed  a  pleasant  omen. 

"  I  have  kept  my  word,  Captain  Travis." 

"  And  I  will  keep  mine,  sir,"  answered  the  other  with  earnest 
emphasis. 

"  Let  us  ride  into  the  thicket,  sir,"  said  Sinclair,  "  and  confer 
at  once  upon  this  matter." 

«  Why  not  go  home  with  me  ?  We  can  talk  there  in  perfect 
safety." 

"  NO,  sir  ;  I  must  risk  nothing  just  now  !     I  prefer  that  our 


MEETING   OF   TRAVIS    AND   SINCLAIR.  317 

conference  should  take  place  in  this  wood.      It   is   the   safer 
place." 

"Do  not  sht  w  yourself  suspicious,  Major  Sinclair,"  said  the 
other.  "  I  am  dealing  with  you  honorably." 

"  So  I  hope,  sir  —  so,  indeed,  I  believe  !  But  caution  does 
not  necessarily  imply  suspicion,  Captain  Travis,  and  even  if  it 
lid,  in  the  present  instance,  it  by  no  means  regards  you  as  its 
object.  But  T  have  reason  to  think  that  my  steps  are  watched, 
v.-hile  at  your  plantation.  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  they  are 
dogged  now.  And  with  such  a  wily  enemy  as  Richard  Ingle 
hardt  in  the  neighborhood,  as  I  am  told  he  is,  one  can  not  be 
too  vigilant." 

"  You  are  right,  sir.  He  is  a  wily  rascal !  a  liquid  serpent, 
who  will  glide  into  the  porches  of  your  dwelling,  and  coil  him 
self  in  a  corner,  yet  sound  no  rattle.  I  have  just  parted  with 
him,  and  we  have  had  a  long,  and,  on  my  side,  an  angry  con 
ference.  But  I  have  thrown  him  off  the  scent.  It  will  be  pru 
dent,  indeed,  that  you  should  not  appear,  just  now,  at  my  plan- 
lation.  It  might  undo  much  that  I  flatter  myself  has  been  well 
done." 

And,  thus  speaking,  Travis  followed  Sinclair  deep  into  the 
right-hand  wood.  The  two  forced  their  way  forward  through 
its  thickest  recesses,  till  they  drew  rein  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  river.  Here  they  dismounted ;  and,  each  holding  his 
bridle  by  the  hand,  they  prepared  to  seat  themselves  upon  a 
fallen  tree.  Travis  had  actually  found  a  spot,  and  had  turned 
his  back,  about  to  sit  upon  the  tree,  when  Sinclair  grasped  his 
wrist  suddenly,  and  drew  him  away. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Your  friend  Inglehardt  is  just  behind  you." 

"The  d— Iheis!" 

He  turned  and  looked  where  Sinclair  pointed,  and  the  crest 
of  a  rattlesnake,  in  his  coil,  was  perceptible,  raised  directly  be 
hind  the  log  where  he  was  about  to  seat  himself.  Giving  his 
bridle  into  the  hands  of  Travis,  Sinclair  caught  up  a  broken 
branch  and  brained  the  beast  at  a  blow.  Then  the  two  seated 
themselves. 

"  Well,  Major  Sinclair,"  sai<   Travis,  "  I  trust  you  come  pre 


318 


THE  FORAYERS. 


pared  to  adjust  our  business.     You  got  my  last  despatch      You 
have  communicated  with  General  Marion  on  the  subject.  ' 

"  Yes,  sir :  I  have  omitted  nothing  which  could  possibly  be 
thought  necessary  to  be  known  and  understood  between  us,  as 
essential  to  bringing  about  the  desired  consummation  of  our 
mutual  objects.  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  are  prepared 
to  ally  your  fortunes  with  those  of  the  country  — to  shake  off 
the  connection  with  the  British,  and  to  prove  your  good  faith 
by  putting  us  in  possession  of  such  information  as  will  materi 
ally  help  our  cause  in  future." 

"  More  than  this,  Major  Sinclair,  I  am  possessed  of  the  power 
to  hurt  as  well  as  help — to  hurt  as  seriously  as  help.  I  am 
possessed  of  proofs  of  a  conspiracy  in  Charleston  to  surprise  and 
destroy  the  British  garrison,  in  that  place; — proofs  which  are 
so  conclusive,  that,  if  once  known  to  Balfour  or  Rawdon,  would 
bring  sixty -three  of  its  best  citizens  to  the  gallows.  To  satisfy 
you,  that  I  do  not  speak  idly,  I  need  but  add  that  I  know  that 
yon  yourself  have  recently  communicated  with  these  same  citizens 
within  the  capital — that  you  were  there  three  days,  concealed, 
and  in  disguise;  and  that  you  brought  away  ivith  you  a  concert 
ed  plan  of  operations  which,  I  suppose,  you  have  either  delivered 
to  General  Marion,  or  ham  still  in  your  possession  !  Now,  sir, 
you  see  that  I  possess  the  means  of  hurt  and  injury,  to  as  great 
a  degree,  as  the  means  of  help  and  service  to  your  cause." 

"  I  would  rather,  Captain  Travis,  that  you  had  not  referred 
to  this  power  of  hurt  which  you  possess;  —  would  rather  have 
had  you  make  a  freewill  offering  of  patriotism  to  your  country, 
however  late,  growing  out  of  honest  sympathies,  and  proper 
convictions  !" 

The  rebuke  was  uttered  with  cold  gravity.  Travis  felt  it, 
though  he  was  not  the  man  to  forego  the  assertion  of  all  his  ar 
guments  and  resources  when  a  bargain  was  to  be  driven.  He 
replied  —  hastily  : — 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  Major  Sinclair.  My  purpose  was  not 
to  threaten  or  annoy,  but  simply  to  assure  you  that  I  do  not 
make  a  vain  boast,  when  I  tell  you  of  the  large  value  of  my  in 
formation,  and  of  the  importance  of  those  services  which  I  can 
render  to  your  cause,  in  return  for  the  securities  which  I  de 
mand  <br  the  future.  I  would  have  you  also,  individually 


MEETING    OF   TRAVIS   AND   SINCLAIR.  319 

Major  Sinclair,  be  assured  of  my  good  faith  ;  a  guaranty 
"or  which  may  be  perceived  in  the  countenance  which  I  have 
given  you,  tacitly,  in  your  attentions  to  my  daughter." 

"  Let  me  entreat  yon,  Captain  Travis,  to  make  no  reference 
fo  your  daughter,  or  to  my  affections  in  this  business.  These 
are  things  apart,  sacred,  to  themselves  —  not  to  be  sullied  by 
calculations  of  selfishness  of  any  kind  —  not  to  be  mixed  up 
with  the  interests  of  war  •  still  less  to  enter  into  any  of  the 
conditions  of  this  present  negotiation." 

"  Well,  sir,  as  you  please,"  answered  the  other,  a  little  dis 
quieted  at  this  second  rebuke,  and  feeling  irked  somewhat  by 
the  proud  and  haughty  mode  in  which  Sinclair  treated  every 
approach  to  subjects  not  actually  necessary  to  the  considera 
tion  of  the  one  topic  under  view. 

"You  are  somewhat  scrupulous  and  nice  in  these  matters, 
major,  but  I  don't  know  but  you  are  right.  You  will  forgive, 
to  a  father's  anxieties  for  his  daughter's  happiness,  the  allusion 
which  you  regard  as  irrelevant.  To  our  simple  business  then. 
What  does  General  Marion  say  to  my  propositions?" 

"  General  Marion,  you  are  aware,  possesses  none  but  mili 
tary  powers.  He  approves «of  all  the  propositions  you  make,  so 
far  as  they  fall  within  his  province.  But  the  general  scope  of 
your  desire  renders  necessary  the  consideration  of  another  dis 
tinguished  person  —  and  there  is  but  one  person  only  who  can 
decide  upon  it." 

"  I  am  fully  aware  of  that !  Well,  sir,  will  he  see  me  1  can 
I  have  a  meeting  with  him  in  person,  sir?  —  for  it  will  be  to 
him  only,  in  person,  that  I  will  confide  my  papers  —  my  facts 
—  proofs — " 

"  Read  that  billet,  Captain  Travis,"  said  the  major,  handing 
him  a  scrap  of  paper  —  "you  are  acquainted  with  the  hand 
writing,  arid  will  recognise  the  signature.  You  will  see  that  I 
have  forborne  nothing  toward  bringing  about  the  result  which 
I  desire  equally  with  yourself — and  that  the  interview  will  be 
accorded  you.  Everything,  after  that,  will  depend  upon  the 
-alue  of  the  evidence  you  offer  —  that  evidence  being  necessary 
to  inspire  the  proper  degree  of  faith  in  your  pledges  for  the 
future." 

The  billet,  which  Travis  received  and  read,  ran  as  follows : — 


820  THE   FORAYERS. 

"If  lie   of  II B [Holly-Dale]   is   honest,  and  will 

speak  tbp,  truth,  giving  proof  as  he  promises,  he  shall  have  the 
guaranty  which  he  seeks.  1  will  give  him  the  meeting.  See 
to  the  arrangements  for  it  as  soon  as  possible.  We  have  reach 
ed  that  stage  of  the  game,  when  the  loss  of  a  pawn  may  be 
that,  of  a  castle;  when  the  gain,  even  of  a  pawn,  may  enable  ur» 
to  give  check-mate  to  a  king! 

"  J.  R." 

"  It  is  his  signature!"  said  the  other  musingly.  "  He  will 
meet  me  at  Holly-Dale  —  but  when?" 

This  was  spoken  eagerly,  but  with  an  air  of  considerable  sat 
isfaction —  not  to  say  exultation.  The  secret  feeling  of  Travis 
was,  indeed,  one  of  triumph — but  it  was  because  of  the  convic 
tion  that  he  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to  shake  himself  free  ol 
Inglehardt,  and  to  achieve  the  full  security  of  his  possessions 
from  the  growing  power  which  he  began  to  fear  beyond  all 
other  —  that  of  the  Revolutionists.  But  Sinclair  regarded  the 
expression  of  his  satisfaction  with  suspicion.  He  knew  not  the 
full  extent  of  Travis's  recent  fears. 

"  Captain  Travis,"  said  the  major  of  dragoons  —  "  in  making 
the  arrangements  for  this  interview,*  I  have  not  at  any  moment 
forgotten  that  I  may  be  placing  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy,  on$ 
of  the  greatest  persons  in  this  commonwealth  —  one  who  has 
been  the  leading  spirit  of  our  cause  in  Carolina,  for  five  years  ; 
—  one  whose  loss  to  us  would  seriously  endanger  our  cause,  at 
this  moment.  I  have  done  what  most  persons  would  think  a 
very  rash  thing,  knowing  what  your  course  hitherto  has 
been,  I  have  pledged  my  honor  for  your  fidelity  !  Now,  mark 
me,  sir ;  should  you  betray  my  pledges  —  should  you  abuse  the 
trust  reposed  in  you — should  anything  happen  to  this  distin 
guished  person,  of  evil,  bonds,  or  blows,  when  he  comes  to  this 
meeting — then,  sir,  whatever  my  sympathies  for  you  —  how 
ever  necessarily  and  earnestly  anxious  for  your 'safety  and  hap 
piness,  and  for  the  peace  and  happiness  of  your  family  —  how 
dear  to  me,  I  will  not  say  !  —  yet  will  I  put  you  to  death,  sir, 
as  unscrupulously  as  I  have  brained  that  venomous  serpent 
lying  belaid  us  now  !  My  eye  shall  bo  upon  you,  my  hand 
upon  your  throat,  my  weapon  at  your  head,  and  as  there  is  a 
God  in  heaven,  let  me  but  see  the  first  sign  of  treachery 


MEETING   OP  TRAVIS   AND  SiNCLAIB.  321 

toward  that  great  man,  ami  you  die  like  a  dog  in  your  tracks, 
even  though  I  have  to  smite  you  down  at  the  feet  of  Bertha 
Travis  herself." 

A  warm  flush  passed  over  the  whole  face  of  Travis ;  but  he 
replied  frankly  :  — 

"  And  y  >u  would  be  right,  sir  !  As  there  is  a  God  in  heaven, 
my  purpose  is  honest.  I  deal  in  good  faith  with  you.  He 
.shall  come  to  no  harm.  No  !  Major  Sinclair,  if  on  your  account 
only  —  he  shall  be  safe  at  my  hands.  Ah  !  sir  —  if  you  would 
only  suffer  me  to  say  that,  regarding  you  as  one  who  is  so  pre 
cious  to  my  child,  your  honor  is  as  dear  to  me  as  hers !" 

"  Enough,  sir  !  I  am  willing  to  believe  you.  I  have  shown 
this  in  the  pledges  I  have  made  for  you.  But  we  have  so  much 
at  stake  —  so  much  depends  upon  the  safety  of  that  one  man's 
life,  in  the  present  crisis  of  our  fortunes  —  that  the  most  con 
fiding  nature  will  feel  misgivings.  Forgive  me  that  I  have  felt 
it  due  to  myself  to  utter  threats  and  warnings  which  must  be 
offensive.  I  will  utter  no  more.  We  understand  each  other." 

Travis  grasped  his  hand.  They  sat  for  some  minutes  both 
in  profound  silence.  At  length — 

"  When  shall  we  have  this  meeting  ?"  inquired  Travis.  "  The 
sooner  the  better.  Inglehardt  has  pushed  me  to  a  certain  ex 
tremity.  If  not  relieved  within  three  weeks,  Bertha  must  be 
come  his  wife." 

"  Ha !  Bertha  his  wife  !     Never !  never !" 

"  Amen  !  —  God  knows  I  would  sooner  make  any  sacrifice  to 
prevent  such  a  marriage.  But  it  is  to  this  meeting  that  I  must 
look  for  safety." 

"  Within  three  days  you  shall  have  it  —  here,  at  Holly-Dale 
and  Heaven  speed  it  to  fortunate  issues !  You  must  confide, 
Mr.  Travis,  in  the  simple  words  of  the  person  you  will  meet  ! 
Do  not  you  be  too  suspicious,  too  exacting  !  He  is  not  the  man 
with  whom  to  drive  a  bargain.  Unfold  yourself — deliver  your 
self  frankly,  and  leave  it  to  his  magnanimity  to  afford  you  even 
more  than  you  desire  in  return.  These  papers! — you  have 
them  safe  against  possibility  of  loss." 

"Safe  as  the  grave!  They  shall  be  forthcoming — all! 
But  how  shall  we  communicate  T' 

"Leave  that  to  me  !     I  shall  contrive  it.     I  may  send  you  a 
14* 


322 


THE    FORAYERS. 


messenger.     He   shall  utter  but  a  single  word  to  you,  which 

.shall  prove  his  authority  to   communicate.     That  word  is " 

The  sentence  was  finished  in  a  whisper. 
"Very  good,"  said   the   other  —  "and  now,  Major  Sinclair, 
will  you  give  us  any  time  at  Holly-Dale  ?" 

"  Perhaps  !"  with  a  slight  smile.  "  But  it  will  be  well  that 
you  should  know  nothing  of  my  visits.  It  will  make  it  easier 
for  you  to  deny  that  I  have  been  at  your  plantation.  You  will 
need  to  keep  up  appearances  with  Inglehardt.  See  him  every 
day,  if  possible.  Play  your  game  out  with  him  fearlessly  He 
is  one  of  those  subtle  scoundrels,  full  of  trick  and  manseuvre, 
whom  nothing  can  baffle  but  an  open  game.  How  many  men 
has  he  at  the  village?" 

"  Less  than  twenty,  I  think,  and  all  raw  recruits.  You  might 
crack  all  their  crowns,  and  capture  him  at  a  dash,  with  a  small 
company." 

"  Ay,  I  might !  But  the  attempt  might  peril  our  present  ob 
ject —  occasion  alarm — and  bring  down  the  British  upon  us. 
They  are  rapidly  moving  down  from  Ninety-Six.  We  must 
risk  nothing  now  unnecessarily.  It  may  be  well,  too,  were  you 
to  prepare  your  family  for  sudden  flight  across  the  Santee.  If 
Inglehardt  becomes  troublesome,  the  region  will  be  safe  for 
neither  you  nor  them  as  soon  as  the  British  army  moves  into 
the  precinct.  They  will  probably  take  post  at  the  village,  and 
Greene  will  push  them  if  he  can.  Judge  for  yourself  what  your 
danger  will  be,  if  Inglehardt  gets  any  inkling  of  your  present 
course.  He  is  pressing  you,  you  say.  That  proves  him  sus 
picious  already.  Take  warning,  and  be  prepared,  as  soon  as 
you  are  threatened,  to  send  your  family  off,  and  bury  your 
negroes  in  the  swamp.  Are  you  doubtful  of  any  of  them? 
Inglehardt  is  the  very  man  to  employ  your  domestics  as  spies 
upon  you." 

The  other  answered  gravely  — 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  that,  and  feared  it ;  for  it  is 
difficult,  otherwise,  to  account  for  the  information  that  he  some 
times  obtains.  I  visited  your  father  sometime  ago,  and  took 
every  precaution,  and  a  circuitous  route,  in  seeking  the  Barony  ; 
yet,  though  laid  up  with  his  wound  at  the  time,  Inglehardt 
knew  it  all." 


MEETING   OF   TRAVIS    AND   SINCLAIR.  323 

"  Be  heedful  of  this  danger.     Your  domestics  must  he  watched 
narrowly.'     It   is   because  I  douht  them,  that  I  would  not  wil 
lingly  he  seen  at  Holly-Dale.     Besides,  I  helieve  myself  to  be 
tracked  by  an  enemy's  scout." 
"  Who  ?" 

"  Hell-fire  Dick,  and  perhaps  others  of  his  gang." 
"  Why,  Dick  is,  or  was,  one  of  Inglehardt's   own  troop  ;  but 
he  deserted  and  went  over  to  General  Marion." 

"From  whom  he  has  also  deserted  — by  whom  he  is  out 
lawed." 

"  And  you  think  him  on  your  track  ?" 

"  It  is  probable  !  I  have  thrown  him  out,  I  believe  ;  but,  of 
these  things,  one  can  not  be  certain.  At  all  events,  I  change 
my  quarter  nightly,  and  always  keep  ahead,  using  the  running 
water,  as  frequently  as  I  can,  for  washing  my  horse's  hoofs.  I 
shall  cross  the  river  to  night." 

"  Have  you  any  support  at  hand  ?" 
"  I  think  so.     To-night  will  determine." 
Much  more  was  said  between  the  parties,  dealing  with  the 
details  of  their  respective  progresses ;  but  these  need  not  delay 
us  in  ours.     The  two  separated   toward  dusk,  having  adjusted 
their  more  important  objects,  but  engaged  to  meet,  at  about  the 
-same  time  next  day,  in  the  same  neighborhood. 

When  fairly  dark,  Sinclair  ventured  upon  a  doubtful  ford 
across  the  river,  which,  as  the  water  was  low,  enabled  him  to 
pass  without  difficulty.  On  the  other  side,  knowing  his  route 
thoroughly,  he  made  his  way  upward,  some  two  miles,  and, 
having  reached  a  certain  designated  spot,  he  wound  his  bugle, 
and  was  delighted  to  hear  an  answering  blast,  only  a  few  mo 
ments  after.  Is  was  not  long  before  he  was  joined  by  'Bram, 
his  faithful  negro. 

'Bram  had  a  long  story  to  tell  of  his  own  progress,  and  that 
of  Jim  Ballou,  portions  of  which  we  are  already  in  possession 
of.  For  the  rest,  we  may  briefly  state  that  "  Hell-fire  Dick" 
had  kept  the  track  of  Sinclair  unerringly,  until  Turkey  Hill 
was  reached  ;  when,  somehow,  the  hounds  were  at  fault,  thrown 
out  by  a  nice  little  bit  of  practice  which  the  partisan  had  in 
dulged  in.  Whether  the  scouts  had  recovered  the  trail,  the 
negro  could  not  say,  nor  couJd  he  report  where  they  were 


824  THE   FORAYERS. 

Jim  Ballon  bad  kept  liim  at  watch  upon  Holly -Dale,  to  which 
lie  crossed  in  the  morning,  recrossing  again  at  night.  Ballon 
himself  was  still  off  scouting  somewhere. 

After  a  long  and  satisfactory  conference  with  the  negro,  Sin 
clair  followed  him  down  to  the  river,  where  he  found  a  canoe 
which  'Bram  had  appropriated  from  a  neighboring  plantation. 
Leaving  the  latter  to  stable  his  horse  in  the  swamp  thickets  for 
the  present,  onr  major  of  dragoons  paddled  himself  across  the 
liver,  to  the  "  Holly-Dale"  tract  which  lay  directly  opposite. 

He  had  been  expected.  Bertha  Travis  and  her  brother, 
Henry,  welcomed  him  at  Uie  landing. 


SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE. 

''Tvvas  my  desire  to  prepare  you  for 
The  entertainment.     Be  but  pleased  to  obscure 
Yourself  behind  these  hangings  a  few  minutes." 

CHAPMAN  AND  SHIRLET. 

OUR  little  group  of  three  seated  themselves  on  the  river  bluff, 
xlenry  Travis  sitting  at  the  feet  of  the  lovers,  and  Bertha's 
hand  grasped  by  that  of  Sinclair.  Very  sweet  was  the  situation 
to  all  the  parties.  The  night  air  was  soft  and  pleasantly  cool, 
coming  up  from  the  river.  The  stream  swept  by,  darkly  bright, 
with  a  gentle  murmur  as  it  went,  chafing  against  roots  of 
cypress,  and  bending  branches  of  oak  and  willow,  that  trailed 
down  into  the  water.  There  was  no  moon  yet,  but  the  stars 
were  shining  gayly  and  numerously  down,  their  pale  gleams 
dropping  about  the  group  through  the  great  roof  of  trees  under 
which  they  sat,  and  which  crowned  the  little  promontory,  even 
Avhere  it  overhung  the  river. 

That  silly  sweet  prattle  of  lovers !  How  idle  to  shrewish 
ears !  That  enumeration  of  little  ridiculous  dreams  and  hopes, 
so  childishly  little,  when  heard  by  third  persons,  which  amply 
satisfy  the  minds  of  the  interested  parties,  no  matter  how 
wise.  For  love  is  verily  a  little  child  —  so  full  of  faith,  so 
full  of  wisdom  in  its  simplicity,  finding  so  much  of  compen 
sation  in  its  life  of  trifles;  finding  life  itself  so  busy  and  full 
of  work,  even  when  given  up  to  the  most  unperforming  revery. 
We  will  not  seek  to  repeat  the  little  nothings  of  which  its 
speech  is  so  full,  assured  that  the  situation  is  sufficiently  satis 
factory,  though  the  speech  be  silly. 

Willie  Sinclair,  strong  man  as  he  is;  man  of  thought  ana 
action,  purpose  a;  .d  performance ;  honest  patriot  and  brave 


?'  THE 

% 

partisan  ;  he,  too,  like  the  lovely  creature  with  whose  fingers  hi* 
own  paddled,  coulc1  have  dreamed  away  the  livelong  night  in  the 
pleasant  commerce,  but  that  there  ws-  chat  stern  monitor  called 
duty  at  his  elcow,  which  kept  up  a  coiitiwial  undersong  of  ex 
hortation,  muttering  in  his  ears  at  every  period  — 

"  This  is  no  time 
To  play  tfi'th  m-iimnets  and  to  tiU  with  lips." 

He  started  up,  at  length,  impetuously,  and  with  the  air  of 
one  desperately  shaking  himself  free  from  a  pleasant  thraldom. 

"  Bertha,  I  must  away.  I  have  work  before  me  of  a  pressing 
sort.  I  must  get  writing  materials.  I  have  to  despatch  'Bram 
on  a  mission  within  an  hour.  Can  I  get  to  the  house  unseen, 
where  I  may  write  a  letter  ?" 

"  Why  miiflt  you  hurry,  Willie  ?  I  thought  you  had  a  little 
respite  now." 

This  was  said  reproachfully. 

"Faith,  so  I  said  —  and  truly,  a  very  little  respite,  but  a 
single  hour  with  you,  Bertha,  is  a  very  precious  blessing  in  a 
jewel's  compass.  I  must  be  content  with  just  so  little,  now,  in 
order  that  we  may  secure  a  longer  time  hereafter.  But  the 
business  now  is  pressing." 

"  You  arc  always  so  eager  to  begone,  Willie." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  so  jealous,  Bertha.  But  it  does  not  vex  me 
that  you  are  so." 

And  he  laughed  and  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her, 
and  she  pouted  prettily. 

"  Kiss  her  again,  major,"  said  Henry, — "  I'm  sure  she  rather 
likes  it,  though  she  does  push  you  off  and  grumble." 

And  the  boy  clapped  his  hands  at  the  result  of  his  suggestion, 
Sinclair  dutifully  doing  as  he  was  bidden,  and  getting  soundly 
slapped  for  his  offence.  Bertha  Travis  was,  you  see,  something 
of  a  rustic,  and  knew  not  exactly  how  to  resist  an  impertinence, 
which  came  in  disguise  of  a  tribute. 

"  You  see  what  I've  got  for  listening  to  you." 

"  I  reckon,  major,  you'd  risk  the  slap  over  and  over  again  for 
the  kiss.  But  I  wouldn't." 

"Hush,  you!"  said  the  sister;  "your  impudence  grows  fast 
?r  than  your  shoulders.     But,  Willie,  must  you  be  going  ?" 


SCENES   AT   HOLLY  DALE.  827 

"  I  must :  but  I  need  first  the  materials  for  writing  a  letter. 
It  is  your  father's  business,  Bertha,  rather  than  mine.  Now, 
dearest,  if  I  could  make  my  way  to  the  house,  unseen  by  the 
servants,  slip  into  your  father's  office,  and  write  a  letter — " 

"  It  can  be  done.  Henry  can  go  before  and  whistle  to  you 
if  all's  clear.  We  can  steal  round  the  kitchen,  under  cover  of 
the  garden-wall,  which  is  shady  with  evergreens,  and  the  office 
i.s  in  the  basement.  "And  mother  wants  to  see  you,  Willie.  She 
can  come  down  to  you  in  the  office." 

"Yes  —  to  be  sure:  but  do  not  let  your  father  know  that  I 
am  there.  Not  that  he  will  not  know  —  at  least  suspect  —  and 
approve ;  but  that  he  must  not  be  burdened  with  an  unneces 
sary  fact,  about  which  he  may  hereafter  be  questioned  by  that 
arch  rascal  Inglehardt." 

It  was  arranged  that  Henry  Travis  should  go  ahead,  and  see 
that  the  land  was  clear,  while  the  two  followed  slowly  aftei 
His  whistle  was  the  signal  to  time  their  paces  and  regulate 
their  course.  The  boy  was  already  something  of  a  woodsman 
and  scout,  and  delighted  at  every  sort  of  employment  which 
exercised  his  faculty.  He  stretched  away  as  soon  as  apprized 
of  what  he  was  to  do.  How  the  lovers  loitered  on,  hand  in 
hand,  whispering  what  grateful  nonsense,  we  may  conjecture. 
Enough  to  report  their  arrival  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  dwel 
ling,  in  the  right  basement  of  which  Travis  kept  his  office.  A 
door  opened  upon  the  yard  in  the  rear  of  the  office,  and  here 
Henry  stood  and  gave  them  admission,  closing  the  entrance  after 
them.  A  tallow  (dipped)  candle  burned  upon  the  table,  which 
was  covered  with  books  and  papers.  Travis  was  a  reader  of 
books,  of  which  he  had  a  tolerable  English  collection  of  that 
day,  some  of  them  standards  even  to  ours.  He  was  a  busy 
man,  too,  as  a  British  commissariat,  and  hence  a  multitude  of 
papers,  calculations,  memoranda,  reports,  &c.  He  was  up  stairs, 
companioning  his  wife.  When  Henry  came  to  his  father  for 
the  key  of  his  office,  the  latter  was  about  to  ask  him  for  what 
he  wished  it  —  as  the  application  was  somewhat  unusual  — 
but  with  the  promptness  of  an  older  wit,  the  boy  anticipated 
him : — 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  questions,  papa.  You  know  I  shall  not 
40  any  mischief." 


328 


THE  FORAYERS. 


The  father  in  a  moment  suspected  the  nature  of  his  secret 
The  mother  asked  :— 

"  Where's  your  sister,  Henry  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  significantly,  and  said : 

"  She's  at  the  office  door  outside,  waiting  for  me  to  open  for  her." 

The  father  instantly  handed  the  key  to  the  boy,  who,  snatch 
ing-  up  the  only  candle  burning  in  the  hall,  hurried  down  to  let 
in  the  two  lovers,  leaving  his  excellent  parents  in  the  dark. 

"  The  thoughtless  scamp  !"  said  the  father. 

The  mother  said  :— 

^  Never  mind  the  light.  We  can  talk  as  well  in  the  dark  as 
with  the  candle.  Have  you  any  idea  what  he's  after  Travis  ?" 

"Yes!" 

1S  Ah  ! — are  all  things  going  right,  my  husband  ?" 

"  I  hope  so.  They  promise  well !  They  are  in  a  fair  train 
for  it." 

"Heaven  speed  it  — and  send  us  out  of  this  painful  bondage. 
I  trust  we  shall  never  again  be  cursed  with  the  sight  of  Richard 
Inglehardt." 

"That  we  can  hardly  hope  for,  my  dear  — certainly,  we  must 
endure  it  a  little  while  longer  ;  but.  I  hope  not  too  long.  We  shall 
probably  see  him  again,  and  we  must  keep  up  appearances, 
Lucy,  until  we  are  able  to  bid  him  defiance." 

"  You  are  of  course  aware  that  Sinclair  is  in  the  neighborhood- 
has  been  on  the  plantation  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  the  less  I  know  of  this  the  better.  I  suspect  that 
he -is  below  at  this  very  moment,  but  I  would  not  willingly  be  as 
sured  of  it.  You  may  ascertain  if  you  will,  but  tell  me  nothing 
of  it.  I  suppose  that  Bertha  will  let  you  know  anon." 

At  that  moment  the  girl's  steps  were  heard  coming  through 
the  passage-way,  a  flight  of  stairs  leading  up  from  the  basement 
through  the  centre  of  the  building.  She  found  her  way  to  her 
mother  in  the  dark,  and  whispered  in  her  cars.  Then  she 
lighted  a  candle. 

"Bertha,"  said  the  father— " have  the  windows  of  the  office 
been  securely  shut  in  for  the  night  ?" 

The  precaution  had  been  taken  by  Sinclair,  to  have  this  done 
before  he  entered.  Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Travis  rose,  and  with  he? 
daughter  went  to  the  pantry. 


SCENES   AT   HOLLY-DALE.  ,;29 

*  I'll  venture  anything,  Bertha,  you  never  thought  of  giving 
Mm  any  supper." 

"  Indeed,  mother,  I  did  not." 

"  As  if  love  was  sufficient  support  for  a  major  of  dragoons.  1 
think  it  just  as  likely  as  not,  the  poor  fellow  hasn't  had  a  mouth 
ful  for  twenty-four  hours." 

Bertha  was  full  of  regrets  and  self-reproaches. 

"  Never  mind,  you  shall  amend  your  fault.  Get  out  the  ham  ; 
there's  some  johnny-cake  put  up ;  and  the  fish  Henry  caught 
to-day  are  fried  and  in  the  safe.  Step  out  and  bring  them  in. 
Your  father  can  go  off  to  bed,  and  we'll  bring  the  major  in  here. 
He  can  take  his  supper  in  the  pantry.  Have  everything  ready, 
while  I  step  down  and  have  a  talk  with  him.  You've  had  him 
to  yourself  long  enough." 

Meanwhile,  our  major  of  dragoons,  had  written  out  his  de 
spatches,  whatever  they  were.  He  had  just  finished,  and  sealed 
them,  when  Mrs.  Travis  joined  him  in  the  office.  When  she 
appeared,  and  pronounced  his  name,  he  started  up,  and,  with  as 
natural  a  grace  and  ease,  as  if  he  had  done  the  thing  repeatedly 
before,  he  threw  his  arms  about  the  matron's  neck,  and  inflicted 
a  smart  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

"  Bless  me,  Major  Sinclair,"  said  the  lady,  recovering  from 
the  salute — "  It  is  well  Bertha  does  not  see  you — she  might 
take  it  amiss." 

"  But  Bertha  does  see  you,  you  wicked  couple,"  cried  the 
girl,  making  her  appearance  at  the  same  moment ;  "  you  erred, 
mother,  in  leaving  me  so  little  to  do  up-stairs." 

'*  Well,  major,  since  we  are  so  closely  watched,  you  will  see 
that  you  time  your  kisses  more  seasonably,  and  when  there 
shaii  be  no  jealous  eyes  upon  us." 

"Ah!  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis  —  mother  that  is  to  be  —  we 
might  apprehend  from  Bertha's  jealousy  were  she  to  be  utterly 
shared  out." 

"  What !  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
kissing  my  daughter  —  Bertha  !" 

"  Fie  !  Willie !  You  know  that  such  a  thing  happens  very 
rarely." 

"  A  major  of  dragoons,"  snid  the  mother  shrewdly,  "  is  ceV 
rainly  the  last  persi  u  in  the  world  to  indulge  in  such  a  prsc- 


330  THE   FOB  A  y  EftS. 

tice,  except  as  mere  matter  of  duty.  But  now  that  we  have  all 
had  our  kisses,  I  propose,  Major  Sinclair,  that  you  step  up  ie 
the  pantry,  and  take  a  little  cold  supper.  I  fancy  that  you  get 
as  little  good  food  now-a-days  as  kisses.  Bertha  has  got  to 
gether  everything  in  the  house  that  is  eatable." 

"  Ah  !  she  is  thoughtful  of  me.     I  confess  to  an  appetite." 
"Oh!"  said  the  girl  with  a  blush  —  "it  is  mother  who  has 
been  considerate.     I  confess  I  never  once  thought  of  your  mere 
mortal  appetites." 

"  While  feeding  on  my  heart  you  never  felt  for  my  hunger." 
"  What  a  superb  Spanish  sort  of  speech.  But  come  up,  and  eat." 
"  Where's  Mr.  Travis  ?" 
"  lie  will  not  be  in  the  way." 

"  The  appeal  is  irresistible.  I  confess  that  I  am  one  of  that 
rluss  of  lovers,  who  never  lose  appetite.  A  sigh  never  relieves 
my  hunger.  The  recollection  of  my  lady's  eyes  rarely  moves 
me  to  an  indifference  for  food  ;  —  even  a  kiss,  dear  Bertha,  never 
lessens  my  taste  for  ham  and  eggs,  chickens  and  salad.  I  will 
look  into  your  pantry  with  a  will.  But  I  have  little  time  for 
pleasures  of  this  sort,  and  I  must  swall  >w  as  fiercely  as  an  Edisto 
raftsman.  I  must  be  across  the  river  again  in  an  hour." 
-So  soon,  Willie  1" 

"Yes;  my  business   will  admit  of  no   delay.     I   must  send 
'Bram  on  a  j.ourney  to-night.     Where's  Henry  ?" 
The  boy  answered  from  the  outside  of  the  door. 
"Rundown,   Henry,   to   the  landing  and   wind  this  bugle, 
three  short  mots,  and  then  come  back.     This  will   bring  'Bram 
down  to  the  river,  where  he  will  wait.  me.     And  now  for   the 
cold  meats." 

The  boy  sped  on  his  errand,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  ad 
journed  up-stairs  to  the  pantry,  where  Bertha  had  spread  out 
everything  with  the  natural  nicety  with  which  a  damsel  does 
everything  for  her  lover.  There  was  the  ham,  not  over-deeply 
cut  into,  there  the  dish  of  perch,  cold  but  very  appetizing,  there 
were  some  fragments  of  chicken  ;  a  plate  of  corn  johnny-csike  ; 
a  tray  of  pickles,  cucumbers  and  melons;  —  and  a  decanter  of 
old  Jamaica. 

*'  T*  you  would  wait  a  while,  major,  till  we  could  get  you  • 
bowl 


SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE.  331 

"Not  for  the  world,  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis  —  all  this  suffices, 
amply  —  meets  all  my  desires  —  and  I  frankly  confess  to  you 
that  my  hunger  was  beginning  to  rage.  It  is  not  often  that  1 
see  so  good  a  table,  and  recently,  I  have  eaten  little  —  nothing 
half  so  good  since  I  have  been  on  the  Eclisto.  A  snack  at  Kit 
Rowe's  did  but  whet  and  stimulate  the  appetite  which  has  had 
no  supply  since." 

Willie  Sinclair  had  no  affectations.  His  was  one  of  those 
hearty,  whole-souled  spontaneous  natures,  which  frankly  deliver 
their  true  characteristics  —  having  no  strategic  tendencies  in 
morals — few  or  no  reserves  in  respect  to  their  own  moods  — 
simply  because  there  is  no  secret  consciousness  perpetually 
prompting  concealment.  He  slashed  away  at  the  ham,  tore  the 
chicken  asunder,  swallowed  pickle  after  pickle,  as  men  of  san 
guine  temperament  are  apt  to  do,  and  washed  down  his  edibles 
with  a  copious  draught  of  Jamaica,  and  this  without  mincing 
the  matter,  without  any  delicate  hesitation,  and  scrupulous 
nicety  because  of  the  presence  of  his  mistress.  And,  we  do  not 
scruple  to  say  further  —  we  have  no  desire  for  any  peevish  sup 
pression  of  the  truth,  in  deference  to  canting  delicacy  —  and 
therefore  state  frankly  that  Bertha  Travis  herself  was  persuaded 
to  take  the  wing  of  a  chicken  between  the  fingers  of  one 
hand  and  a  fragment  of  johnny-cake  in  the  other,  and,  for  a 
part  of  the  time  at  least,  to  keep  her  lover  company  in  his 
pleasant  performances.  And  we  give  it  as  our  sober  opinion, 
that,  love  —  happy  love  we  mean  —  always  begets  an  appetite 
—  i.  e.,  among  all  sensible  and  Christian  people ! 

Suddenly,  even  while  Sinclair  ate  and  prattled  with  the 
ladies,  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  was  heard  in  the  court  below ; 
and  Henry  Travis  dashed  into  the  apartment  crying : — 

"  To  cover,  Major  Willie,  there  are  troopers  without,  all  in 
armor." 

"  I  have  not  finished !"  quoth  Sinclair,  coolly  snatching  up 
the  ham-bone  and  the  bottle  of  Jamaica,  andr  chewing  as  he 
went,  he  followed  Bertha  down  stairs  into  the  office,  while  Henry 
Travis  proceeded  to  open  for  the  strangers  whose  raps  were 
now  audible  at  the  entrance. 

And  who  were  these  unexpected  visiters  but  Richard  Ingle 
hardt  and  a  portion  of  his  crew  ? 


332  THE    POBAYERS. 

That  subtle  engineer,  who  had  not  for  some  time  seen  Mistress 
Bertha  Travis,  had  suddenly  bethought  him  that  he  might 
wisely  put  himself  in  the  way  of  Fortune,  having  put  such,  a 
spoke  into  her  wheel  during  his  late  negotiations  with  Captain 
Travis.  At  all  events,  he  had  resolved  to  make  a  sudden  visii 
to  see  how  his  schemes  had  worked — to  see  if  he  could,  by  close 
deciphering  of  the  faces  of  the  damsel  and  her  father,  ascertain 
the  effect  upon  her  of  the  communications  of  the  latter.  Had 
he  communicated  the  arrangement  made  between  themselves? 
How  had  she  received  it  ?  Was  she  resigned  to  her  fate,  and 
would  these  three  allowed  weeks  find  him  at  the  close  the  mas 
ter  of  it  ?  No  wonder  he  was  curious.  The  maiden  was  a  rare 
prize,  and  he  hungered  for  its  possession.  We  may  add  that, 
never  wholly  assured  of  the  father's  good  faith,  he  was  not  quite 
free  from  a  lurking  suspicion  that  nothing  had  as  yet  been  done. 
His  purpose  was  threefold  —  to  take  in  a  draught  of  beauty  at 
the  eyes,  in  anticipation  of  his  future  hopes  —  to  see  for  himself 
if  there  had  been  any  progress  in  the  matter  —  and  to  goad  the 
reluctant  Travis  to  the  performance  of  his  hateful  task.  Satis 
fied  that  the  father  held  it  to  be  a  hateful  task,  he  could  readily 
believe  that  he  would  work  at  it  very  slowly.  It  was,  perhaps, 
just  as  well  that  he  should  be  made  to  feel  the  spur  in  his 
sides. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  Richard  Inglehardt  suppose  that, 
just  when  he  rode  up  to  the  dwelling,  his  lucky  rival  was  at 
full  feast,  of  eyes  and  mouth  in  the  pantry,  with  the  lady  of  his 
love. 

Captain  Travis,  though  he  had  left  the  field  to  Sinclair,  and 
retired  to  his  chamber,  had,  fortunately,  not  retired  for  the 
night.  He  had  heard  the  sounds  of  the  troopers  as  soon  as 
Henry  Travis,  and  made  his  way  down  stairs,  not  a  little 
anxious,  in  season  to  welcome  Inglehardt  at  the  entrance.  That 
subtle  swordfish  came  in  alone,  having  left  his  troopers,  who 
were  simply  rough-riding  rangers,  to  keep  watch  in  the  court 
below,  and  cool  their  restiffness  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
quiet  stars,  always  supposing  that  such  people  may  occasionally 
incline  to  look  upward. 

Of  course.  Captain  Travis  was  courtlily  gracious,  and  in  civil 
terms  enough  welcomed  his  unwelcome  visiter.  They  entered  iho 


SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE. 

4 

pai':r  together,  where  they  found  good  Mrs.  Travis,  sitting 
c:jimly  in  her  rustic  rocker,  made  of  oak-staves,  with  a  square 
of  undressed  oxhide  stretched  across  the  seat,  the-mottled  hair, 
white  and  black,  outside.  And  she  was  civil  enough  in  her 
\vul  come  ;  and  Inglehardthad  no  reason  to  complain.  He  thought 
the  old  lady  rather  stiff  and  stately  in  her  reception,  but  this 
might  be  due  to  the  uneasy  working  of  the  hinges  of  age  —  the 
stiffness  might  be  in  the  joints  rather  than  the  soul  ;  though  he 
confessed  to  himself,  while  only  forming  this  supposition,  that,  at 
no  period,  could  he  have  flattered  himself  with  the  belief  that 
the  good  lady  had  ever  shown  herself  cordial  in  her  deport 
ment,  while  in  his  presence. 

Whatever  Inglehardt  thought  or  felt,  he  never  suffered  him 
self  to  lose  the  quiet,  easy,  subdued,  deliberate,  and  very  gra 
cious  manner  which  usually  characterized  his  bearing.  His 
genuflexions  were  profound  and  graceful,  his  smile  the  most 
benignant,  and  when  he  took  the  lady's  hand,  and  inquired  after 
her  well-being,  it  was  with  the  air  of  a  dutiful  and  devoted 
son,  all  reverence  and  solicitude;  and  taking  his  seat  beside  her, 
he  drew  his  box  from  one  pocket,  fed  his  nostril  gingerly  — 
followed  the  feeding  by  the  use  of  his  kerchief — a  genuine 
'•  Injy,"  which  he  drew  from  the  other,  restored  both  to  their 
places  again,  and  renewed  his  remark,  with  singularly  sweet 
empressement,wp<m  the  admirable  keeping  in  which  he  found  his 
amiable  hostess. 

But  Bertha  Travis  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  sweetly  in 
sinuated  his  wishes  for  her  health  —  which  were  construed  natu 
rally  into  an  inquiry  for  her  presence  —  and  was  told  that  she 
had  retired  for  the  night  —  the  hour  was  late  —  no  guests  were 
expected  ;  —  Captain  Travis,  by  the  latter  remark,  meaning  to 
convey  the  idea  that,  could  it  have  been  foreseen  that  the  house 
was  to  be  honored  with  the  presence  of  so  distinguished  a  visitor, 
the  damsel  would  not  have  disappeared  so  early.  And  with 
this  pleasant  insinuation,  Master  Inglehardt  was  compelled  to 
be  content.  And  the  conversation  flagged. 

After  a-while,  Captain  Inglehardt,  apologizing  sweetly  to 
M":-8.  Travis,  begged  to  see  her  spouse  on  public  business,  iD 
piivate,  and  in  his  office.  Travis,  without  knowing  how  Sin 
clair  had  been  disposed  of,  and  feeling  not  a  little  anxious  foi 


THE   FORAYERS. 

the  subject,  was  yet  unable  to  evade  this  requisition  His  wife 
would  have  retired,  giving  up  the  parlor  to  her  guest  and  hus 
band^;  but  this  Inglehardt  would  by  no  means  permit;  and 
Travis  had  no  ready  subterfuge  by  which  to  escape  the  neces 
sity  of  taking  his  visiter,  down  stairs,  "  on  public  business,"  to 
that  office  whither  it  had  been  always  usual  with  them  to  go  on 
such  occasions.  So,  seizing  a  candle,  almost  desperately,  and 
making  as  much  bustle  as  he  well  could,  without  exciting  sits 
picion,  he  led  the  way  for  the  unwelcome  guest. 

The   office  was  wholly   in  darkness.     All  was  silent  there. 
Where  was  Sinclair?  was  the  mental  query  of  Travis.     Had 
he  got  off  in  the  face  of  the  troopers  without?     If  not,  where 
could  he  be  ?     There  was  a  rude  settee  in  the  apartment  upon 
which  Inglehardt  subsided  with  an  air  of  graceful  negligence. 
Could  Sinclair  have  been  forced  to  take  shelter,  under  the  form 
which  sustained  his  enemy  ?     If  so,  Travis  felt  for  the  mortifi 
cations  of  the  man  whose  proud   spirit  he  knew,  and  whom  he 
desired  for  his  son-in-law  !     But,  casting  an  anxious    glance 
about  the  room,  the  father  of  Bertha   caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
door,  ajar,  which  opened  into  a  closet  occupying  that  portion  of 
the  passage  way,  which    lay  beneath  the  stairflight  into  the 
second  story.     If  not  gone,  he  felt  it  probable  that  our  major  of 
dragoons  was  sheltered  there  amidst  wines  and  liquors,  and  any 
number   of  demijohns  and    bottles.      These,    he   remembered, 
crowded  the  shelves  to   the  very  edges,  and  covered  the  floor, 
leaving  precious  little  space  for  the  movements  of  a  restless 
person.     Our  commissary  felt  exceedingly  uneasy.     A   single 
incautious    movement,    of  the    occupant,    if    concealed   there, 
might  tumble  a  dozen  bottles  from  their  spheres,  and  he  might 
be  witness  to  some  such  scene  as  that  in  which   Hamlet  admin 
isters  to  Polonius  through  the  arras.     Travis  was  half  disposed 
to   think  that  Inglehardt's  visit,   so  late,   so  unexpected,  was 
only  made  in  consequence  of  his  suspicions.     Had  he  been  fur 
nished  with  any  clues  ?  had  the  spies  upon  his  steps,  of  whom 
Sinclair  had  spoken,  followed  the  trail  to  his  dwelling?     Had 
the  espionage  which  he  had  long  felt  to  be  maintained  u^  -n 
himself  made  and  reported  the  discovery  of  Sinclair's  presence  1 
Well  might  he  be  anxious.     His  secret — nay,  his  fate,  hur>g 
•ipon  a  single  hair. 


SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE.  335 

Bu  Travis  was  an  old  soldier,  and  a  pretty  200!  politician. 
Whatever  he  felt,  he  yet  contrived  to  appear  perfectly  uncon 
cerned  and  indifferent. 

"Well,  Tnglehardt,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  frankness,  "you 
have  news,  I'm  sure.  You  are  not  the  man  to  ride  at  night 
without  a  burden.  What  have  you  heard  ?" 

The  other  answered  gently  and  slowly. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  "  will  you  not  credit  me  with  the  anxious 
feeling  of  a  lover  who  would  gaze  occasionally  upon  the  beauti 
ful  star  which  is  to  crown  his  destiny  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that 
my  star  is  the  jewel  of  your  house?" 

"  Pshaw  !  You  are  not  the  person  to  fatigue  yourself  with 
love-making.  I  know  you  too  well  for  that.  What  are  your 
tidings?" 

"  Faith,  but  you  do  me  wrong,  my  dear  captain.  Sentiment 
is  my  infirmity.  Love  is  my  weakness.  The  eagerness  of  my 
passion  al&ne'  compels  me  here,  and  I  feefc  a  signal  disappoint 
ment  in  not  being  able  to  see  the  creature  of  my  devotions. 
Verily,  you  might  have  expected  me.  After  our  conference,  in 
which  I  showed  you  fully  the  intensity  of  my  passion,  you 

could  scarcely  have  expected   me  to   keep  away.     Ah  ! do 

tell  me  what  progress  you  have  made  ?" 

The  other  answered  bluntly  and  truly  :  — 

"  None  as  yet !  I  have  not  even  broached  the  subject  to  wife 
or  daughter.  I  felt  too  much  like  a  coward.  I  had  not  the 
courage  for  it.  It  is  not  an  agreeable  duty,  Captain  Inglehardt, 
to  repeat  to  their  ears,  the  terrible  language  you  have  thrust  into 
mine." 

"  Ah  !  — but  it  must  be  done,  Captain  Travis  !"  said  the  other, 
with  a  contemptuous  coolness,  and  he  took  snuff  after  the 
speech. 

"Avj!  Of  course!  It  must  be  done;  but  though  I  know 
this,  I  do  not  the  less  feel  how  painful  is  the  necessity.  And 
it  shall  be  done,  Captain  Inglehardt.  You  have  my  promise, 
but  you  must  leave  it  to  me  to  decide  the  when  and  the  how. 
I  must  seize  a  favorable  moment  for  it.  I  have  three  weeks 
remember." 

"  Less  some  thirty -six  hours  !  I  will  not  bate  one  moment  of 
the  limit." 


336  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  I  know  you  for  a  terrible  tyrant,  as  I  have  told  you,  and. 
by  Heaven,  Inglehardt,  if  I  saw  any  way  to  escape  you,  I  should 
a  thousand  times  prefer  to  defy  you  to  the  teeth,  than  sacrifice 
that  dear  child  to  your  desires." 

"  Sacrifice  !  Pooh  !  pooh  !  Travis ;  —  what  silly,  inappropri 
ate  words  you  use.  How  should  there  be  any  sacrifice  ]  Your 
safety  is  something,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  as  proper  a 
person  to  render  your  daughter  happy  as  any  captain  you  could 
find.  But  you  desire,  possibly,  a  higher  rank  for  your  son-in- 
law.  Well,  our  union  of  forces  will  secure  that  also.  We  shall 
see.  Though  I  care  nothing  for  the  distinction  myself,  yet,  to 
satisfy  you,  I  shall  put  myself  in  the  way  of  a  colonelcy." 

"  Do  that  /"  said  Travis  with  energy. 

"Well  — it  shall  be  done." 

"But  your  news  ?     You  have  had  some  intelligence  ?" 

"  Y-e-s  !"  drawlingly,  "  we  are  to  have  three  more  regiments 
from  Ireland ;  Corm\»llis  is  to  return  from  Virginia,  bringing 
Arnold  with  him,  and  we  shall  finish  the  rebels  at  a  blow  in 
Georgia  and  the  Carolinas.  It  needs  but  this  to  bring  about 
negotiations  for  peace.  Congress  is  worn  out,  and  prepared  to 
make  terms  for  the  Northern  Colonies,  giving  up  the  Carolinas 
and  Georgia,  which,  with  Florida  and  the  Southwest  territory, 
will  leave  the  Crown  in  possession  of  the  richest  of  its  provinces 
—  worth  all  the  rest  to  her  commerce,  There!  Isn't  that  a 
plentiful  budget?" 

"  If  true  !     But  how  do  you  get  it  ?" 

"From  Charleston.  It  comes  from  a  sure  hand.  It  com 
prises  Balfour's  latest  intelligence." 

"  Heaven  send  it  to  be  true  !  Yet,  wiH  Great  Britain  be  wil 
ling  to  yield  so  much  to  Congress,  with  the  certainty  of  con 
tinual  insurrection  here,  stimulated  by  a  republic  alongside." 

"  There  will  be  no  insurrection  here.  It  is  to  be  a  war  of 
extermination  waged  upon  the  rebels,  till  the  whole  race  is  ex 
tinct.  The  conquerers  will  be  put  in  possession,  and  a  new 
plan  of  colonization  will  fill  up  the  vacant  places  with  the  loyal 
people.  You  perceive  a  sufficient  motive  in  the  prospect  ibr 
present  and  future  fidelity." 

"  I  have  never  wanted  motive  for  this." 

"  To  be  sure  not,"  said  the  other  with  a  smile,  which  was  n 


SCENES   AT   HOLLY-DALE.  337 

sneer.  "  At  all  events,  this  intelligence  will  furnish  sufficient 
motive  for  sundry  who  are  shaking  in  the  wind,  deceived  by  the 
apparent  successes  of  the  rebel  partisans.'' 

"  Very  true,"  said  the  other  musingly. 

Travis  was  not  deceived  by  this  intelligence.  He  not  only 
knew  it  to  be  an  invention  —  a  lie  throughout  —  but  he  knew 
it  to  be  the  invention  of  Inglehardt  himself.  Travis,  who  had  his 
own  emissaries  in  the  village,  knew  that,  unless  within  the  last 
eight  hours,  Inglehardt  had  received  no  such  intelligence  up  to 
their  last  interview.  Carelessly  insinuating  the  question  as  to 
the  period  when  he  got  his  despatches,  Inglehardt  inadvertently 
answered  — "  This  morning."  The  other  said  no  more.  The 
conversation  became  desultory,  and  finally  flagged,  both  parties 
beginning  to  show  decided  symptoms  of  weariness. 

"  I  must  ride,"  at  length  said  Inglehardt.  "A  stoup  of  your 
Jamaica,  Travis ;  this  day's  work  has  enfeebled  me." 

The  requisition  filled  Travis  once  more  with  uneasiness.  It 
was  one  which  Inglehardt  rarely  made.  Could  he  have  any 
suspicions  of  that  closet  beneath  the  stairs  ?  He  knew  that  it 
was  there  the  liquors  were  kept.  But  there  were  no  means  of 
evasion.  Any  hesitation,  or  delay,  would  probably  confirm  the 
suspicions  of  the  other  if  any  were  entertained;  and  Travis 
rose  promptly  and  proceeded  to  the  closet,  the  door  of  which  he 
opened  carefully  and  no  wider  than  was  necessary  for  the  *» 
mission  of  his  person.  Judge  of  his  momentary  consternation_ 
when  he  discovered  not  only  the  major  of  dragoons,  but  Bertha 
Travis,  within  its  shelter ;  his  movement,  on  opening  the  door 
—  which  opened  within  —  having  the  effect  of  forcing  them  into 
the  closest  relations.  As  he  entered,  Bertha  thrust  the  square 
black-bottle  —  in  which  the  Jamaica  of  that  day  was  usually 
found  most  portable  —  into  his  grasp.  He  was  saved  the 
trouble  of  finding  it.  He  withdrew  with  it  promptly,  drawing 
the  door  closely  behind  him.  But  now,  another  dilemma 
awaited  him.  He  had  the  rum,  and  the  tumblers,  and  these 
were  planted  upon  the  table  near  the  unwelcome  guest;  but 
the  water  was  above  stairs.  To  leave  Inglehardt  alone,  even 
for  a  moment,  was  a  peril.  His  papers  were  strewn  about  the 
table.  He  rapidly  asked  himself  whet  IK  r  there  was  anything 
in  them  to  compromise  him.  A  tricky  politician  never  feels 


338  THE    FORAYERS. 

himself  quite  safe.  He  knew  that  Ingleliardt  had  as  few  scrn 
pies  as  himself,  and,  then,  he  might  take  it  into  his  head  t 
look  into  the  closet.  But  he  had  no  escape  from  this  nei 
necessity,  and,  groaning  in  spirit  as  he  went,  he  hurried  u] 
stairs  for  the  water. 

Sinclair  readily  conceived  all  the  dangers  of  his  own  situa 
tion  as  certainly  as  did  Travis ;  but  he  got  his  couteau  dc  chass 
in  readiness,  and  felt  that  even  strife  would  be  a  grateful  relie-' 
from  a  position,  in  which,  though  with  an  arm  about  his  beloved 
he  had  stiffened  from  constraint.  He  had  shifted  the  burden  oi 
his  body  from  one  leg  to  the  other,  until  both  were  weary.  And 
he  weighed  little  short  of  two  hundred.  But  Ingleliardt  never 
looked  at  the  closet.  He,  however,  did  not  hesitate  at  a  rapid 
glance  at  the  papers  on  the  table,  which  only  ceased  as  he 
heard  Travis  approaching  from  above. 

"  The  dirty  rascal !"  muttered  Sinclair  to  himself,  as  through 
the  crack  of  the  door  he  witnessed  the  transaction.  The  next 
moment  Travis  made  his  appearance,  and  the  two  drank  to 
gether,  the  potation  of  Travis  rendered  necessary  from  the  ex 
citement  he  felt,  exceeding  thrice  in  quantity  that  taken  by  his 
companion.  Then,  slowly,  to  the  last,  Ingleliardt  took  his  de 
parture,  Travis  carefully  seeing  him  beyond  the  dwelling,  and 
to  his  horse. 

'What  a  tedious  scoundrel!"  exclaimed  Sinclair,  emerging 
iroi«  the  closet,  and  leading  out  Bertha.  "  Cold  and  conceited, 
isn't  it  wonderful  that  such  a  fellow  should  have  any  of  the 
qualities  of  the  soldier  ?  Yet  he  has :  he  can  plan  well  ;  is 
cunningly  clever,  and  prompt  enough  to  blows  on  most  occa 
sions ;  but  he  lacks  one  warlike  essential  —  one  of  the  most 
essential  for  a  dragoon.  He  is  wanting  in  impulse;  is  deficient 
in  celerity.  What  a  lover  he  must  be  —  eh,  Bertha  ?  Did  he  take 
snuff  between  the  sentences  when  he  was  making  love  to  you  ?" 

"  Ah  !  he  never  got  so  far  as  that." 

" A  snake  in  the  grass!  Subtle,  sly,  venomous,  and  delib 
erate.  I  am  curious  to  think  how  the  encounter  between  iih 
shall  take  place.  I  know  that  it  will  come  —  but  how  1  Heav 
en  speed  it  be  in  the  open  daylight,  in  the  broad  field,  with  Heav 
en  looking  on  ;  and,  if  HeaVen  pleases,  with  no  other  spectators. 
I  should  dread  that  lie  should  creep  near  me  in  the  darkness. 


SCENES    AT    HOLLY-DALE.  339 

while  I  slept,  sheltering  his  sliding,  spotty  carcass  muler  inno 
cent  leaves  and  flowers." 

Travis  reappeared. 

"  Is  the  coast  clear,  sir  I"  asked  Sinclair. 

He  Avas  answered  by  Henry  Travis,  who  hastily  reappeared 

"All  right,  Major  Willie  —  they're  out  of  the  avenue  by  this 
time." 

"  What !  not  a-bed,  boy  ?"  said  the  father.  "  And  what  have 
you  got  here  ? — my  pistols,  as  I  live  !  Are  they  loaded,  boy  ? ' 

"  To  the  muzzle,  sir.  I  thought  they  had  found  out  the 
major,  and  tha*  T  might  have  to  take  a  crack  at  'em." 

"  'Faith,  Captain  Travis,  I  shall  Have  to  ask  you  for  both 
your  children,"  said  Sinclair,  lifting  the  boy  up  in  his  muscular 
arms,  and  kissing  him. 

"  Don't  be  jealous,  Bertha,"  said  the  saucy  urchin  —  "you 
shall  have  it  as  soon  as  he's  gone." 

"  1  shan't  wait  for  that,  saucebox,"  said  the  girl,  slapping  him 
on  one  cheek,  while  kissing  the  other.  Sinclair  announced  the 
necessity  for  his  immediate  departure,  and  took  Bertha  by  the 
hand.  Her  father  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  examine  his  papers  ; 
and,  during  this  study,  our  major  atoned,  upon  her  lips,  for  the 
outrage  committed  upon  her  brother's.  Then  she  slipped  out  of 
the  room  and  up-stairs  without  rousing  a  single  echo ;  and,  if 
she  slept  without  dreaming  that  night,  it  was  not  because  of  the 
absence  of  very  pleasant  fancies.  A  parting  stoup  of  the  Ja 
maica  was  hastily  swallowed  by  our  dragoon,  and  he  disap 
peared —  a  few  words  as  he  left  being  sufficient  to  establish  an 
understanding  between  himself  and  Travis,  for  future  m  eting. 
Henry  would  go  with  him  down  to  the  river  and  see  him  across 
in  the  boat.  The  boy  would  have  given  his  favorite  pony  to 
have  been  permitted  to  cross  also.  In  another  hour,  Sinclair 
had  despatched,  by  Abram,  the  missive  which  he  had  encoun 
tered  so  much  risk  to  prepare.  Of  course,  the  black  was  prop 
erly  schooled  in  his  duties,  and  perfectly  understood  what  was 
to  be  done.  His  task  implied  a  canter  of  ten  or  twelve  mileF 
that  night. 

"  But  where  is  Ballon  ?"  was  Sinclair's  query  to  himself,  as 
he  prepared  to  occupy  the  forest-camp  of  the  negro,  his  good 
steed  being  his  only  companion.  "  The  fellow  must  be  verv 


340  THE   FORAYERS. 

busy — on  a  warm  trail — or  —  which  is  most  likely — must  be 
drunk  again !" 

But  our  major  was  quite  too  tired  for  much  reflection,  and 
soon  delivered  himself  up  to  sleep.  We  must  not  omit  to  state 
that  he  had  not  sent  'Bram  off  without  his  supper,  having 
brought  with  him  the  ham-bone  and  bread  which  he  had  so 
hastily  appropriated,  from  the  pantry  of  Mrs.  Travis,  when  the 
alarm  was  given  by  the  steeds  of  Inglehardt  and  his  party. 


THE   RIVAL   SPIDERS 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE    RIVAL    SPIDERS. 

"Things  well  begun 

Are  half  performed  :  the  managing  an  act 
With  close  and  hidden  practice,  'mongst  the  wise 
And  politic  people,  brings  assured  success : 
Broad  open  way  the  heavy  snail  doth  take, 
While  untrod  paths  best  please  the  subtle  snake." 

GLASSTHORNE'S  Wallenstein. 

IT  was  long  after  midnight  when  'Bram  returned  to  his  ma»- 
ter  in  the  camp.  But  he  had  performed  his  mission  successfully, 
and  brought  back  a  written  answer,  partly  in  cipher,  which 
Sinclair  read  by  firelight,  and  which  proved  satisfactory. 

"  But  what  of  Ballou,  'Bram  V1 

The  negro  could  give  no  account  of  the  scout. 

"  'Speck  he  'tretch  out  somewhay  in  de  bush,  drunk  like  a 
gem  pieman." 

Our  major  painfully  admitted  to  himself  this  probability ;  he 
well  knew  the  scout's  weakness,  and  feared  that  he  had  fallen 
into  a  temptation  which  had  proved  too  great  for  his  resolves. 

"  And  lawd,  maussa,  ef  you  bin  yerry  how  he  sway  to  God 
nebber  for  touch  whiskey  an'  rum  any  more  'gen.  But  he  lub 
'em  so." 

"  Well,  since  he  fails  us,  'Bram,  we  shall  only  have  to  do 
double  duty  ourselves.  Don't  let  me  sleep  a  moment  after 
daylight.  I  must  ride  down  to  Kit  Rowe's  by  peep  of  day 
To  sleep  now,  old  fellow." 

With  dawn  he  was  up  and  mounted. 

"  Keep  your  eyes  about  you,  'Bram,  while  I  am  absent.  You 
can  push  the  boat  across  the  river  and  scout  about  Holly-Dale. 
Henry  Travis  will  n  eet  you  by  the  swamp  cedars,  and  bring 


342  THE    FORAYERS 

you  something  to  eat.     I  shall  probably  be  with  you  after  dark 
in  the  camp,  mind  you.     We  can  cross  in  the  canoe." 

And  shaking  the  negro's  hand,  as  if  he  had  been  a  boson- 
friend,  our  major  of  dragoons  took  his  way  down  along  the  edge 
of  the  river  swamp,  until  he  reached  the  ford  where  he  had 
previously  crossed  the  stream,  when  he  boldly  pressed  through 
it  as  before.  On  the  opposite  side  he  sped  along  with  a  free 
rein,  meeting  nobody,  and  possibly  escaping  all  eyes,  at  that 
early  hour  of  the  morning.  But  he  kept  under  cover  as  much 
as  possible,  passing  below  the  bridge  until  he  found  himself 
nearly  opposite  to  Howe's  plantation.  Here,  after  a  little 
search,  he  found,  closely  hidden  away  in  the  thickly-massed 
forest  which  crowded  down  to  the  edge  of  the  stream,  a  little 
dug-out,  with  a  negro  boy  in  it  asleep.  He  routed  up  the 
urchin,  who  was  evidently  set  to  wait  for  him  —  not  watch  — 
and  stripping  his  horse  of  his  saddle,  and  loosing  his  neck- 
cliain,  he  led  the  steed  by  the  bridle  to  the  water,  and  entering 
the  boat,  bade  the  boy  push  across;  the  horse,  never  fearing, 
taking  the  water  like  a  dog  of  Newfoundland,  and  swimming 
beside  the  dug-out.  The  steed  concealed  in  the  swamp  thickets, 
and  the  boy  left  in  charge  of  the  boat,  Sinclair,  after  sundry 
precautions,  made  his  way  up  toward  the  settlement,  giving  his 
bugle  a  slight  blast  which  brought  Howe  out  to  him  in  the  thicket. 

"  Have  you  heard  of  Dick  Coulter  and  his  troop  ?"  was  the 
first  question  of  Sinclair. 

"  He  was  at  Chevillette's  last  night,  and  is  no  doubt  plying 
about  in  the  swamp  between  his  place  and  Barton's." 

"  Good !  I  must  have  him  up  to-morrow  by  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon.  Can  you  give  him  a  whistle  ?" 

"  It  shall  be  done.     Where  must  he  find  cover  ?" 

"  At  Holly-Dale,  west  of  the  road,  out  of  sight,  but  ready 
bitted,  for  a  charge  at  the  first  blast  of  the  bugle.  Has  any 
thing  more  been  gathered  touching  the  recruits  of  Travis?" 

"  I  counted  twenty-six  at  drill,  yesterday." 

"  How  many  has  Coulter  ?" 

"Not  more  than  nineteen  last  night,  but  some  were  out 
scouting." 

"  Has  Ballon  been  here  1" 

"  No  |     I  thought  I  heard  his  horn  blow  down  by  the  negro 


THE    RIVAL    SPIDEES.  343 

quarter  last  evening,  as  I  rode  up  from  Chevillette's,  but  I  have 
seen  nothing  of  him." 

"  He  is  either  drunk  in  a  hollow,  or  on  a  hot  trail.  I  need 
him  now,  and  we  shall  be  pushed  for  time.  Greene's  advance 
will  probably  pass  Rawdon  to-morrow  night." 

"  Ah  !  and  his  lordship  ?" 

"  Is  making  for  Orangeburg  as  a  fox  makes  for  his  hole  with 
thirty  dogs  at  his  heels.  The  heat  is  playing  old  Harry  with 
his  men,  and  his  Irish  are  ready  to  break  out  in  mutiny." 

"  Good  !     What  of  Stewart  and  Crnger  ?" 

"  Nothing  positive  :  but  they  are  on  the  road  also,  pushing 
downward  with  the  whole  tory  settlement  of  Ninety-Six,  bag 
and  baggage  along  with  him,  and  Pickens  at  his  heels  with  his 
mounted  rangers  —  too  few  to  cut  him  up,  yet  too  hungry  not  to 
follow.  But  you  must  get  me  some  breakfast  out  here.  I  have 
a  famous  dragoon  appetite  this  morning." 

"  There's  no  stranger  on  the  place  or  about.  Can't  you  ven 
ture  up  to  the  house." 

"No  !  I  can  risk  nothing  unnecessarily  now  —  I  have  a  life 
depending  on  my  vigilance  and  safety,  which  is  worth  an  army 
to  us." 

We  will  not  pursue  our  major  of  dragoons  for  the  present, 
satisfied  that  he  wishes  concealment,  and  that  he  will  be  active. 
Let  us  look  in,  for  a  moment,  upon  Richard  Inglehardt. 

He  was  taking  his  breakfast,  a  somewhat  late  one,  at  the 
table  of  the  widow  Bruce.  All  the  other  lodgers  —  they  were 
few  —  had  breakfasted  and  gone.  The  widow  presided  at  the 
table  and  watched  her  guest,  as,  somewhat  more  abstractedly 
than  usual,  he  broke  his  bread  and  sipped  his  coffee.  Ingle 
hardt  seldom  showed  himself  in  a  contemplative  mood ;  bmt  he 
was  evidently  somewhat  heedless  of  the  lady's  presence  at  this 
moment.  Mrs.  Bruce  was  a  lady  of  dignity,  stately  and  re 
served,  herself,  but  with  that  sort  of  pride  which  demands  that 
others  shall  pay  tribute  of  confidence  and  solicitude.  She  did 
not  much  admire  Inglehardt.  She  knew  him  as  obscure  of 
family,  the  son  of  an  overseer,  and  he  a  man  of  little  force  of 
character.  But  Inglehardt  had  made  hi?nself,  and  this  proved 
hhr  in  possession  of  native  endowments  which,  properly  exer 
cised,  \vould  give  him  means  of  power,  and  moral  power  is  per 


344  THE   FORAYERS. 

sc  a  virtue.  Richard  Inglehardt  was  not  a  person  to  be  de 
spised —  not  a  person,  however,  to  be  loved  —  by  the  Widow 
Bruce  he  was  not  even  admired.  Did  she  fear  him  ?  not  ex-^ 
actly.  It  would  be  difficult  to  say  through  what  agency  he 
coerced  her  respect.  It  was  not  a  respect  accorded  to  him 
through  any  social  consideration.  His  social  position  was 
doubtful  and  his  manners  were  bad.  But  even  his  manners 
were  significant  of  latent  powers.  He  was  so  cool  —  so  assuror! 
—  so  seemingly  indifferent  as  to  the  results  of  the  game  —  so 
equal  to  it,  as  it  was  ordinarily  played  —  that  those  who  could 
not  analyze  the  source  of  the  possession  were  yet  able  to  recog 
nise  it.  It  was  something,  therefore,  to  inspire  curiosity,  to 
perceive  this  man  apparently  forgetful,  absorbed,  heedless  of 
the  things  around  him,  and  for  once,  natural,  and  so  far  human, 
therefore,  as  to  betray  a  consciousness  of  such  relations  with 
the  world  about  him,  as  to  take  him  completely  out  of  his  indif 
ference.  He  whose  thoughts  make  him  forgetful  of  the  absolute 
presence  in  which  he  stands,  shows  himself  in  some  degree  the 
subject  of  fortune.  He  is  not  superior  to  fate.  It  is  working 
in  his  brain,  or  in  his  heart,  so  as  to  inspire  a  care  —  an  anxiety. 

Why  should  Richard  Ingleliardt  be  so  anxious  at  the  present 
moment,  as  to  forget  his  affectations  —  forget  his  usual  inaiii.er, 
and  show  himself  heedless  of  the  very  person  in  whose  presence 
he  sits?  Such  a  man  rarely  betrays  any  heedlessness  of  those 
about  him.  He  is  always  watchful  of  the  world  as  if  lie  knoAvs 
that  it  is  full  of  enemies  or  —  victims.  It  is  only  those  AV!IO 
sympathize  with  humanity  who  ever  forget  their  vigilance. 

"  I  should  say,  Captain  Inglehardt,"  quoth  the  Avidow,  "  that 
you  were  meditating  some  enterprise  of  more  than  usual  diffi 
culty." 

There  was  something  of  pique  in  the  tone  of  the  lady,  ll.i 
fruit,  perhaps,  of  his  failure  to  note  her  presence. 

"  Did  you  speak,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?"  he  answered,  somewhat  quick; 
but  looking  up  still  absently. 

"  Is  it  love  or  war,  Captain  Inglehardt  ?" 

"  Love,  madam  !" 

"  Ay,  sir;  I  ask  if  it  be  IOATC  or  war  that  now  exercises  A  our 
strategic  faculties?  You  are  evidently  busy  in  some  scheme  o,f 
more  than  common  embarrassment." 


THE   RIVAL   SPIDERS.  345 

He  shook  his  head  as  if  to  shake  it  free  of  thought,  and  an 
swered  slowly,  resuming  his  deliberateness  of  speech  and  manner. 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  am  to  sup  shortly  witli  the  devil,  and  my 
spoon  is  not  quite  long  enough  for  my  purposes." 

And  with  these  words  he  coolly  rose  and  left  the  loom,  a 
little  vexed  with  himself  that  he  should  forget  himself,  in  his 
anxieties,  in  the  presence  of  another. 

"Ay,"  said  the  widow,  "be  it  war  or  love,  the  devil  will  be 
sure  to  have  his  hand  in  your  mess,  no  matter  whom  you  have 
at  supper." 

The  widow  did  not  admire  her  lodger  certainly; — and  had 
but  little  faith  in  his  virtues,  though  she  might  respect  his 
powers.  Meanwhile,  Inglehardt  retired  to  his  room,  and  lighting 
his  pipe,  sought,  through  this  medium,  to  blow  the  clouds  from 
off  his  brain.  He  is  not  one  who  suffers  himself  often  to  solilo 
quise  ;  but  he  needs  a  safety-valve  at  this  moment  which  the 
pipe  itself  will  not  supply,  and  he  broods  aloud,  without  heeding 
that  we  listen. 

"  I  feel  dubious  about  this  whole  affair.  I  feel  that  Travis  is 
playing  the  rogue  with  me.  I  do  not  know  it,  I  only  feel  it ;  it 
is  an  instinct;  and  I  hate  to  rely  upon  instinct  merely.  I  can 
not  fathom  the  secret.  I  have  those  who  watch  him  yet  they 
report  nothing  unfavorable  —  all  seems  flowing  smoothly,  like  a 
river  going  down  to  the  sea,  singing  as  it  goes.  Still,  tho.ro  is 
a  something  treacherous  in  the  current,  and  I  can  not  sound  its 
depths. 

"  Yet  what  can  be  his  game  ]  He  knows,  as  Avell  as  I  do, 
that  this  rebellion  is  nearly  burnt  out.  In  the  northern  states, 
it  scarcely  shows  a  flame.  Virginia  and  North  Carolina  have 
been  swept  by  Arnold  and  Cornwallis.  Georgia  is  crushed  and 
helpless  at  the  foot  of  Britain.  Here,  only,  in  our  own  province 
is  the  struggle  maintained  —  and  how  'I  Greene  is  too  cold  and 
cautious  to  achieve  any  brilliant  results.  He  only  keeps  alive 
oy  economizing  his  forces.  The  troops  of  Marion  and  Sumter; 
Pickens  and  the  rest  of  the  partisans  —  they  come  and  go,  and 
are  equal  only  to  small  predatory  performances.  Half  of  the 
natives  are  in  our  ranks,  and  here  are  three  new  regiments  from 
Ireland,  and  others  coining.  One  disaster  to  Greene's  army 
and  the  war  is  ended. 

15* 


346  THE   FORAYERS. 

"Well,  I  am  in  position,  and  Travis  is  in  position.  Hii 
policy  is  to  be  faithful  to  the  crown  and  to  me.  He  knows  that 
I  can  tear  him  down  at  a  moment  —  nay,  give  him  to  the  halter. 
He  has  every  motive  of  interest  and  safety  to  be  faithful,  and 
with  such  a  man  such  notions  are  everything.  We  are  both 
in  a  position  to  achieve  fortune  by  the  event,  and  that  is  as 
nearly  reduced  to  certainty  now,  as  anything  can  be  in  the 
world. 

"  And  yet — ^frel  that  he  is  treacherous !  He  does  not  press 
this  matter  with  his  daughter.  He  hopes  yet  to  escape  this  ne 
cessity.  But  how  ?  There  is  no  doubt  of  my  proofs,  and  he 
knows  me  too  well  to  doubt  that  I  will  crush  him,  ay,  hang  him, 
without  remorse,  if  he  is  unfaithful  —  though  Bertha  Travis  lay 
at  my  feet  pleading  to  me  for  mercy.  He  knows  that,  yet  he 
trifles  with  me  ! 

"  Shall  I  submit  to  this  trifling  ?  Why  has  he  not  broached 
the  matter  to  her  in  the  last  thirty-six  hours,  when  I  laid  bare 
to  him  the  absolute  necessity  of  his  case,  and  deliberately  showed 
him  ray  own  stern  resolve  ?  He  knows  what  I  require,  knows 
me  firm,  and  knows  his  danger.  Wherefore  should  he  trifle, 
then,  and  procrastinate,  -unless  in  the  hope  of  some  method 
of  evasion  ?  Does  he  calculate  on  the  chapter  of  accidents,  in 
this  three  weeks  which  I  have  allowed  him  —  calculate  on  chance 
shot  or  sabre  stroke  cutting  me  off  and  assuring  his  safety  by 
silencing  my  testimony  ?  Ha  !  I  must  let  him  understand  that 
my  very  death  is  his  ruin.  I  must  give  him  to  know  that  I 
shall  so  arrange  the  evidence  against  him,  and  place  it  in  such 
keeping,  that  the  very  hour  in  which  I  perish  gives  up  the 
secret  to  Balfour. 

"  And  what  are  his  sources  of  hope  for  these  casualties  1 
This  Sinclair  —  where  is  he?  His  battalion  is  not  with  Greene. 
That  is  certain.  Where  is  it?  He,  himself,  has  been  heard  of 
below,  as  far  as  Monck's  Corner,  and  Biggins'.  A  troop  of  cav- 
alry  supposed  to  be  St.  Julien's,  has  been  down  upon  the  Pon 
1'on  with  Harden.  This  Edisto  boy,  Richard  Coulter  —  my  old 
school-mate  too  —  is  somewhere  below,  skirting  and  recruiting 
along  the  river.  Can  he  be  in  any  strength  1  I  must  prepare 
for  some  of  these  parties.  My  own  recruits  are  strong  enough 
now  for  a  dash,  and  I  m  st  have  them  out  scouting.  Had  I  inv 


THE   RIVAL   SPIDERS.  o47 

vw.  -rans  here,  something  handsome  might  be  done.  I  shall  havi 
the*a  in  another  week — and  then  ! 

"  ifat  am  I  safe  here  another  week  ?  Hardly  —  if  it  be  tru« 
that  riarden,  Maham,  St.  Julien,  Sinclair,  and  Coulter,  are  be 
low,  ft  will  need  that  I  take  to  the  swamp.  Oh  !  for  half-a- 
dozen  scouts  who  know  their  business  ! 

"  Tl'iG  wooing  is  not  my  forte.  It  fatigues  me.  I  require 
easy  covi^uests  with  the  sex.  They  do  not  compensate  toil  and 
stratagem.  The  father  must  do  my  wooing.  I  shall  make  it  a 
short  procxss  with  him,  and  he  will  find  it  needful  to  be  quite  as 
summary  ^fih  her.  He  shall  have  his  three  weeks,  but  not  a 
moment  mcie.  In  that  space  of  time,  he  can  not  escape  me. 
Yet  I  must  tvatch  him.  My  instincts  are  ever  sure,  and,  I  feel, 
though  I  ca.,1  not  see,  that  he  is  treacherous.  He  has  his  game 
no  doubt,  bi*t  I  will  block  it  on  him  when  he  least  expects  it." 

We  are  not  to  suppose  that  all  this  soliloquy  was  delivered  as 
we  have  written  it,  without  pause,  break,  or  interruption.  The 
mood  was  alrucst  dreamy  in  which  the  captain  of  loyalists  uttered 
himself,  with  aoquent  intervals  in  which  the  pipe  sent  up  its 
curling  wavelet?,  of  smoke  about  his  head,  with  his  body  thrown 
back,  face  lifted,  and  heels  upon  a  chair  opposite.  And  thrice, 
during  his  rever}  .  did  he  fill  the  bowl  of  the  pipe  with  fresh 
tobacco  Meamv.iile,  his  snuff-box  lay  untouched  upon  the 
table.  He  never  <ook  snuff  except  in  the  presence  of  others. 
Snuff-taking  was  o,.e  of  his  processes  for  pause — for  gaining  time 
—  for  masking  a  w^od  or  purpose. 

In  this  soliloqu^  you  have  the  secret  of  hit  moral  make. 
Cold,  calculating,  selfish,  remorseless,  subtle  as  a  serpent,  and 
capable  of  using  his  fangs  even  where  his  passions  are  unex- 
cited.  He  was  too  phlegmatic  to  woo.  He  thought  too  little 
of  the  sex,  for  such  aa  effort.  He  could  toil  and  weave  labori 
ously  in  the  effort  to  secure  his  enemies  in  his  meshes,  but  he 
could  not  toil  in  beuaU'  of  his  own  heart.  Power  was  his  pas 
sion.  He  knew  nothLig  of  the  fine,  inspiring  frenzies  of  love. 
Love  he  knew  only  in  tts  coarser  forms,  as  the  creature  of  will 
and  passion  ;  and  the  coldness  of  his  heart  rendered  him  sus 
ceptible,  even  in  this  degree,  only  at  periods,  and  when  his 
brain  craved  a  respite  from  political  intrigues.  We  see  what 
are  his  calculations  tot  .ihing  the  condition  of  the  country,  and 


348  THE    FORAYERS. 

the  prospects  of  the  war.  His  politics  were  wanting  as  they 
chiefly  contemplated  the  surface.  Of  men,  in  general,  he  knew 
much  —  could  probe  the  ordinary  character  with  skill  and 
adroitness  —  but  of  superior  men,  having  great  impulse,  with 
out  which  there  is  no  great  virtue,  he  knew  nothing.  Enthu 
siasm  was  a  thing  of  depth,  beyond  his  plummet.  Thus,  it  was 
that  the  very  pressure  which  was  calculated  to  bring  out  the 
real  heroism  in  the  country,  was  beheld  by  him  only  as  a  crush 
ing  and  irresistible  one  —  one  to  crush  and  be  irresistible  only 
among  the  class  which  he  could  comprehend  —  those  who  cal 
culated  the  chances  of  the  struggle,  rather  than  the  merits  of 
it,  and  who  gauged  their  patriotism  by  hopes  and  fears,  rather 
than  love,  principle,  and  duty.  In  brief,  this  man,  wonderfully 
shrewd  and  cunning,  was  master  only  of  the  avenues  of  the 
brain  ;  of  the  deep,  full  heart,  whether  in  man  or  woman  —  the 
absorbing  generous  affections,  the  glorious  impulses,  the  honest 
gushings,  and  noble  frenzies- — he  had  no  knowledge.  For  these 
he  made  no  allowance. 

But  we  need  not  linger  in  his  analysis.  He  will  develop 
himself  as  we  proceed.  Enough  that,  having  finished  his  rev- 
ery  and  soliloquy,  his  pipe  and  plans,  he  prepared  to  join,  and 
exercise  his  raw  recruits.  We  need  scarcely  say  that  he  gave 
them  sufficient  employment.  He  despatched  sundry  of  his  best 
men  in  different  directions.  He  had  silently  matured  the  details 
of  a  progress,  in  which  he  was  to  act  more  decisively  than  ever 
upon  Travis.  But  his  necessities  required  that  he  should  also 
send  out  his  spies,  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  what  degree  of  risk 
he  incurred  in  lingering  about  the  village.  The  reports  of 
scattered  bands  of  the  partisans  below  him,  were  calculated  to 
render  him  uneasy.  In  fact,  he  felt  that  an  enterprise  against 
him,  by  a  spirited  and  able  captain,  might  have  put  him  and 
his  little  troop  entirely  hors -de -combat.  He  had  felt  himself 
safe  only  in  the  supposed  absence  of  the  Americans  with 
Greene  and  Marion,  across  the  Santee.  He  had  been  so  far 
safe,  in  fact,  only  as  it  was  generally  known  by  the  partisans 
that  he  was  temporarily  invalided  and  in  concealment,  without 
any  troops  with  him,  and  that  they  had  their  hands  full  else 
where,  of  much  better  employment  than  looking  after  a  game 
vyhich  promised  so  little  of  reward  for  the  tvouble  of  the  search 


THE   RIVAL   SPIDERS.  349 

It  was,  indeed,  only  within  the  last  ten  days,  and  when  he  had 
succeeded  in  picking  up  some  recruits,  that  he  had  ventured 
openly  to  show  himself  in  Orangeburg.  It  was  the  report  of 
Richard  Coulter's  troop  in  the  neighborhood,  that  now,  most  of 
all,  made  him  feel  the  necessity  of  a  proper  vigilance.  Accord- 
•ngly,  his  spies  and  scouts,  such  as  they  were,  were  all  set  in 
motion. 

Leaving  him  to  his  plans  and  practices,  let  us  see  after  Sin 
clair.  We  join  him  late  in  the  day,  when,  having  recrossed 
the  river  in  Howe's  canoe,  paddled  over  by  the  negro-boy,  his 
horse  swimming  beside  the  boat  as  before,  he  sped  up  on  the 
route  toward  Holly-Dale.  He  drew  rein  in  the  same  neighbor 
hood  where  he  had  held  a  previous  interview  with  Travis. 
Here  he  stabled  his  horse  in  covert,  and  prepared  to  wait  the 
reappearance  of  that  person  who,  as  he  had  learned,  had  gone 
down  that  morning  to  the  village.  We  may  state  that  Travis 
and  Inglehardt  again  had  a  long  private  interview  together,  the 
result  of  which  —  both  parties  playing  fox  in  the  game  —  was 
to  leave  the  latter  in  as  great  a  degree  of  incertitude  as  ever  — 
his  instincts  making  him  suspicious,  his  thought  denying  all 
reason  for  doubt  or  apprehension.  Travis  repeated  his  assu 
ranees  of  good  faith  —  swearing  at  his  leek,  like  Pistol,  even 
while  he  swallowed  it — and  Inglehardt  insinuating  his  warn 
ing  of  the  penalties  that  would  follow  from  his  treachery. 

"  And  while  you  are  persuading  your  daughter,  Travis,  I 
must  have  the  privilege  of  seeing  her.  My  last  three  visits  to 
your  house,  have  been  profitless  in  this  respect.  She  keeps  out 
of  sight.  Now  she  is  indisposed,  now  she  has  retired  for  the 
night,  and  there  is  always  some  excuse.  You  must  enlighten 
her  upon  the  necessity  of  having  no  headache  when  I  come, 
and  particularly  against  going  to  bed  so  early." 

Travis  gave  him  a  look  full  of  hate  and  venom,  but  Ingle 
hardt  only  laughed. 

"  By  Heaven  !  Richard  Inglehardt,  I  should  sooner  brain  you 
than  serve  you." 

"  Ah  !  but  that  wouldn't  serve  you.  Remember,  as  I  have 
been  at  the  pains  to  show  you,  the  hour  of  my  death  is  that  of 
your  arrest  for  treason,  to  say  nothing  of  certain  minor  offen 
ces.  The  papers  —  proofs  —  I  can  reach  at  any  moment,  so  long 


350  THE  FORAYERS. 

as  I  live  —  dead,  spe  jchless,  they  are  at  once  transferred  to  the 
keeping  of  Commandant  Balfour.     But,  enough  !" 

And  he  handed  his  mnll  with  nicely-extended  finger  to  hie 
auditor,  throwing  up  the  silver  lid  as  he  spoke. 

"  No,  sir!"  answered  Travis,  with  stern  look  and  emphasis — 

no,  sir  !  none  of  your  snuff!" 

The  other  only  smiled  as  he  helped  himself  His  thought 
was  : — 

"  Yes,  I  have  him  in  the  toils,  and  he  feels  it.  He  has  no 
means  of  evasion." 

In  fact,  Travis  had  played  his  cards  so  well,  that  Inglehardt's 
instincts  were  shamed  almost  into  silence  by  his  mental  convic 
tions.  They  still  lived,  and  were  still  so*mewhat  watchful,  hut 
they  were  no  longer  urgent. 

"Have  yon  heard,  Captain  Inglehardt,"  said  Travis  some 
what  abruptly,  "  that  Dick  Coulter,  with  some  ten  or  a  dozen 
troopers,  has  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cooper's 
swamp  ?"  thus  giving  very  gratuitous  information,  and  mu 
tilating  it  besides  —  cutting  down  the  twenty  or  thirty  of  Coul 
ter  to  ten  or  a  dozen.  Inglehardt  noticed  this  discrepancy  be 
tween  this  account  and  his  own,  but  the  fact  of  Travis  giving 
the  information  at  all,  was  in  proof  of  his  playing  fairly  with 
him,  and  he  could  readily  conceive  that  a  discrepancy,  in  the 
report  of  numbers,  might  easily  occur  without  being  a  fraudu 
lent  one.  He  did  not  know  that  Travis  was  already  apprized 
of  his  own  perfect  knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of  Coulter ; 
and  lie  still  pretended  ignorance  of  the  fact  till  the  present 
moment. 

"  Ha  !  Coulter  !"  he  exclaimed  —  "  He  about !  At  Cooper's 
swamp,  eh  1  But  with  a  dozen  men  only  !  He  must  be  seen 
to.  We  must  take  a  drive  in  that  quarter  shortly,  as  soon  as  I 
get  my  ragamuffins  in  good  order  for  a  charge." 

What  more  was  spoken  between  them,  we  need  not  here  re 
port.  It  was  of  business  matters,  affecting  their  own  relations, 
and  those  of  the  army  ;  but  as  Travis  was  about  to  leave  the 
loyalist  captain,  *he  other  touched  him  gently  on  the  arm,  and 
looking  with  his  deep,  keen  eyes,  a  stare  of  sharp  and  unyield 
ing  firmness,  he  said : — 

"  Remember,  Captain  Travis,  I  am  serious  in  the  demand  to 


THE    RIVAL   SPIDERS.  861 

see  your  daughter  when  T  happen  to  visit  Holly-Dale.  Shf» 
must  not  keep  out  of  my  sight.  She  must  not  show  aversion 
There  must  be  no  petty  excuses  of  headache  and  early  couch 
ing.  I  must  not  only  have  your  assurance  that  you  will  fulfil 
your  engagement,  but  I  must  exercise  tny  own  eyes,  in  seeing 
what  sort  of  progress  you  make.  It  must  not  be  a  thing  of 
mere  coercion;  —  she  must  be  won  —  her  affections — " 

"  And  how  the  d — 1  am  I  to  reach  them  in  your  behalf,  when, 
perhaps,  she  has  no  affection  for  you  ?" 

"Ask  the  devil,  and  he  may  instruct  you  in  the  process. 
At  all  events,  I  require  to  watch  the  progress.  To-morrow,  if 
you  say  so  —  to-morrow,  I  will  visit  Holly-Dale." 

It  was  with  indiscreet  quickness  that  Travis  answered : — 

"  Not  to-morrow  !  not  so  soon  !  It  will  take  me  some  days 
to  prepare  her  mind." 

"  Ah  !  her  antipathies  are  very  strong,  I  see  !  But  you  will 
advise  me  when  she  relents,  when  she  relaxes,  when  she  begins 
to  love  —  will  you?" 

"  You  are  a  sneering  devil,  Inglehardt." 

"And   you  anything  but  a  smiling  one,  Travis,"  was  the 
quiet   reply,    "though  devil  you  are,  by  all  that's   satanical 
The  only  wonder  is  how  you  should  ever  have  been  blessed- 
with  so  saintly  a  daughter." 

Travis  felt  it  in  his  heart  to  knock  him  down,  and  looked  it ; 
but  the  other,  his  eyes  still  on  him,  fed  his  nose  from  the  snuff 
box,  with  his  complacency  totally  unmoved.  That  prudence 
which  taught  Travis  to  seem  very  angry  with  his  subtle  asso 
ciate,  taught  him  to  subdue  within  proper  limits  his  genuine 
anger.  They  separated,  with  a  burst  of  bad  temper  from 
Travis  and  a  cool,  contemptuous  grin  and  bow  from  Inglehardt 


THE   FORAYERS. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

HOW  LOVERS  MAY  FORGET  THEMSELVES. 

"  Oh  I  verily,  a  pleasant  confidence ! — 
So  sure  in  love  that  nothing  can  be  lost, 
Though  very  much  at  stake.     If  their  souls  keep 
This  music  to  the  last,  'twill  end  in  heaven: 
Tis  Truth  here,  happy  in  its  innocence." —  Old  Play. 

THE  cool,  sarcastic,  contemptuous  tyranny  of  Inglehardt, 
was  momently  strengthening  the  resolution  of  resistance  and 
rebellion  in  the  heart  of  Travis ;  and  preparing  him  to  second 
the  desires  —  whatever  they  might  be  —  of  Willie  Sinclair  and 
his  associates. 

"  Curse  him  to  his  marrow  !"  he  muttered  as  he  left  the  vil 
lage.  "  He  shall  pay  for  all  this  insolence  before  I'm  done 
with  him.  Let  this  arrangement  but  ripen  —  let  me  but  blind 
him  for  the  present,  and  I  shall  have  my  revenge  out  of  him." 

He  rode  briskly  until  he  had  nearly  reached  the  spot  where 
he  expected  to  meet  Willie  Sinclair,  when  he  subdued  his  paces, 
and  was,  after  a  little  while,  joined  by  the  person  he  expected. 
Then  he  dismounted  and  led  his  horse  into  the  woods. 

"Well,  major,"  said  he  impatiently — "have  you  heard?  Is 
all  right  ?  Shall  I  have  the  meeting." 

"Yes:  to-morrow,  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  at  Holly-Dale. 
Abram  will  bring  him  across  in  the  dug-out." 

"  You  will  be  present." 

"Not  at  your  conference,  of  course,  which  I  suppose  you 
desire  should  be  private ;  but  I  will  be  in  the  neighborhood 
I  must  keep  good  watch  to  see  that  he  suffers  no  harm." 

"You  do  not  doubt  my  good  faith,  major.  By  Heaven,  sir, 
you  will  find  me  true.  My  feelings  and  policy  go  togethei 
here." 


HOW  LOVERS  MAY  FORGET  THEMSELVES.      353 

(<  I  trust  so ;  I  believe  you :  but  you  can  only  assure  me  of 
yourself.  I  must  make  sure  against  all  others.  This  man 
Inglehardt  has  increased  his  troop.  He  may  be  suspicious. 
He  coi  Id  be  troublesome." 

"  He  has  no  suspicion  of  you  —  none  of  our  project  —  he  may 
have  of  me.  But  I  flatter  myself  I  have  shut  up  his  eyes,  or 
diverted  them  to  another  quarter.  I  have  told  him  that  Coulter 
is  in  the  river  swamp  below,  and  this  offers  him  a  new  subject 
for  anxiety." 

"  But  why  tell  him  that  ?" 

"  It  can  do  no  harm  to  Coulter,  and  I  told  Inglehardt  just 
enough  of  the  truth  to  lead  him  into  a  snare.  Instead  of 
twenty -five  troopers  which  is  the  least  force  of  Coulter,  I  said  he 
had  only  ten  or  a  dozen;  and  instead  of  Chevillette's  and 
Barton's,  I  represented  him  as  harboring  considerably  beyond." 

"  I  suspect  he  knows  bettei  He  has  his  own  scouts  below. 
There  were  two  of  them  scouting  down  the  Charleston  road 
to-day." 

"  He  has  no  scouts  worth  a  copper." 

"  Still,  it  is  something  of  an  error  with  politicians  to  refine 
too  much.  I  hope  you  did  not  intrude  your  intelligence  ur 
gently.  He  had  probably  heard  of  Coulter  from  other  quar 
ters." 

"  So  I  thought ;  and  hence  my  information.  That  it  was 
already  know/i  to  him,  was  not  a  fact  to  be  known  to  me.  That 
I  told  him  what  I  did  know,  and  what  he  would  be  likely  to 
suppose  that  I  knew,  was  calculated  to  do  away  with  all  doubt 
that  I  was  dealing  honestly  with  him.  No  harm  can  come  of 
it,  I  think." 

"Perhaps  not  —  I  hope  not!  Still,  I  would  stake  nothing 
unnecessarily,  nothing  for  which  the  game  does  not  absolutely 
call.  But  I  must  leave  you.  All  is  sufficiently  understood  be 
tween  us.  You  will  look  for  us  at  three  to-morrow." 

We  need  not  report  more  of  their  dialogue.  The  parties 
separated;  Sinclair  riding  below,  in  the  direction  of  Orange- 
burg  ;  Travis  speeding  homeward  at  &  smart  canter. 

The  conference  had  taken  place  in  the  thicket  just  below 
th-*  "  Four-mile  Branch,"  a  place  that  seemed  to  promise  perfect 
secrecy.  Everything  was  quiet  when  they  reached  the.  spot, 


o54  THE   POBAYERS. 

\\hicl)  might  have  been  a  hundred  yards  distant  from  the 
road.  On  one  side  of  them  ran  the  branch.  Between  them 
aiul  the  road  spread  a  thick  bay,  on  the  edge  of  which,  seated 
on  a  log,  and  holding  th^  bridle  of  their  horses,  they  communed 
together.  Here  not  a  murmur  was  to  be  heard  saving 
their  own  voices.  The  air  was  hushed.  The  bay  was  the 
abiding  place  only  of  the  reptile  and  the  wild  cat.  We  have 
heard  what  was  said  between  them,  of  interest  to  this  progress. 
Unfortunately,  amid  all  this  silence  and  seeming  security,  it 
was  heard  by  other  ears.  Scarcely  had  they  ridden  out  of 
sight  when  a  wild  and  savage-looking  being,  huge  of  limb, 
brutal  of  aspect,  in  ragged  garments,  but  armed  with  pistols 
and  knife,  started  out  of  the  bushes,  not  ten  steps  from  the  spot 
where  they  had  been  seated.  He  had  heard  every  syllable. 
It  had  been  easy  for  him  to  have  shot  them  both  down  with  a 
single  bullet ;  but  this  was  by  no  means  his  policy.  Their  secret 
was  of  much  more  importance  to  his  interests  than  their  lives. 
Then,  too,  there  was  some  peril  in  any  more  demonstrative 
course.  Had  his  pistol  missed  fire,  his  own  fate  was  certain. 

The  savage  being  thus  emerging  from  the  thicket,  was  no 
less  a  personage  than  "Hell-fire  Dick" — a  cognomen  which  he 
had  learned  to  prize  as  of  more  value,  and  more  distinction 
than  the  innocent  name  of  Joel  Andrews  received  from  his 
parents. 

"Ho!  ho!  ho!  hain't  I  got  you  now,  Cappin  Travis.  Won't 
it  be  nuts  for  Dick  Tnglehardt,  what  I  has  to  tell  him.  And 
you,  too,  Willie  Sinclair! — I  reckon  I  has  you,  too,  under  the 
saddle  !  I  reckon  I'll  hev'  a  ride  on  both  o'  your  necks  by 
three  o'clock  to-morrow.  Well !  if  this  news  don't  set  me  all 
right  with  Cappin  Inglehardt,  for  the  matter  of  that  desartion, 
<ind  git  me  some  good  gould  guineas  besides,  I'm  never  no 
more  to  be  in  the  way  of  good  luck,  and  I  may  as  well  give  up 
trying. 

"  Now,  who'd  a  thought  I'd  ha'  cotched  Willie  Sinclair  hyar, 
when  he's  throw'd  me  off  his  trail  everywhar  else  ?  Jest  when 
I  was  a  sleeping  too.  Well,  it's  a  sign  that  I'm  to  hev'  a 
chaince  of  good  fortin  again ;  and  I'll  be  at  her  like  a  man 
that  knows  she's  worth  a  tussle. 

"And  how  shill  i    be?" 


HOW  LOVERS  MAY  FORGET  THEMSELVES.      355 

And  he  mused  awhile,  sitting  upon  the  same  tree  which  Sin 
clair  and  Travis  had  so  lately  occupied. 

"  It's  no  use  to  let  Rafe  Brunson  know  about  this  diskivery. 
Dick  Inglehardt  never  pays  too  freely,  and  the  diskivery  is  all 
my  own.  Why  should  I  give  the  '  Trailer'  any  of  my  own 
hard  airnings?  And  whar's  he  jist  now,  evenef  I  was  .to  look 
a'ter  him.  May  be  some  five  miles  off,  and  whar  ?  Ef  I  goes 
about  making  signals  in  these  woods,  who  knows  but  I  may  start 
up  a  dozen  of  Sinclair's  scouts.  Tain't  reasonable  for  me  to  do 
that.  I  could  have  shot  him  and  Travis  both  —  always  sup 
posing  that  the  we'pon  didn't  miss  fire,  but  there  mought  be  a 
dozen  troopers  closing  in  upon  me  from  the  road.  Oh !  ef  I 
could  find  out  where  Sinclair  has  hid  away  that  hundred  guineas 
that  he  tuk  from  Pete  Blodgit.  In  course,  he  aint  a-riding 
about  with  it  now.  That  chaince  is  done  and  gone,  clear. 
And  what's  the  chaince  now  ]  Why  to  catch  them  two  con- 
spirating  rebels  in  the  same  net.  That's  the  how;  and  the 
way  to  do  it  is  to  see  Cappin  Inglehardt. 

"  But  what  if  he  axes  me  about  that  desartion,  and  is  wanting 
to  be  hard  upon  me.  I  must  make  tarms  with  him  first.  Yes, 
that's  the  way  with  him.  He'd  be  mighty  smooth  with  me  till 
he'd  sucked  out  my  secrets,  and  then  he'd  put  on  a  grand  look, 
and  talk  of  example,  and  how  decent  and  proper  'twas  to  hang 
a  man  for  desarting,  jist  to  encourage  other  desarters.  I  must 
hev'  tarms  with  our  ily  tongue  cappin. 

"  Ha  !  and  thar's  that  matter  about  Coulter.  So  he's  about 
agin  —  and  I  suppose  harboring  in  '  Bear  Castle.'  He  ought 
to  build  and  settle  thar,  now  that  they  call  him  the  hero  of 
'Bear  Castle.'  He  kin  fight  and  he  will,  and  ef  he's  got 
thirty  men  with  him,  I  reckon  he's  a-preparing  now  to  make 
a  dash  at  Inglehardt.  And  our  cappin  wants  all  the  men  he 
kin  git.  He'll  be  glad  enough  to  hev'  me  and  the  Trailer  back 
agin  in  his  ranks.  He  knows  what  I  am  for  an  orderly,  and  he 
knows  what  the  Trailer  is  for  a  scout.  We  air  as  good  as  any 
other  six  fellows  he  could  pick  up,  and  stout  fellows  air  a  git- 
ting  scarce  in  these  parts.  I  see  my  way  pretty  cl'ar  now%" 

Suffice  it  that  our  Dick  of  Tophet  deliberately  arranged  all 
the  argument,  with  which  to  win  his  way  back  to  the  favor  of 
Captain  Inglehardt,  before  rising  from  his  sent.  When  he  had 


356  THE   FORAYERS. 

fully  conned  his  part  lie  got  up,  moved  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bay  and  brought  out  the  little  hackney  of  a  horse,  of  which 
he  had  dispossessed  Blodgit  so  unscrupulously.  He  mounted, 
and  took  his  Avay  down  for  Orangeburg,  avoiding  the  public 
road  as  much  as  possible,  and  proceeding  so  slowly  as  to  have 
the  cloak  of  night  about  him  before  penetrating  the  village. 

Sinclair,  meanwhile,  never  once  apprehending  this  new  dan 
ger,  sped  downward,  also,  until  he  reached  the  forks  of  the 
road  near  Pen  Branch,  when  he  turned  to  the  right,  and  sped 
in  a  northwest  direction  for  a  mile.  Here  he  turned  into  the 
woods,  found  a  hollow  tree,  which  delivered  him  a  letter,  pos 
sessed  himself  of  its  contents,  and  having  destroyed  it,  wheeled 
about,  and  returned  upon  his  own  steps  till  he  gained  the  point 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  ford  the  river.  By  this  time 
it  was  dark,  and  objects  were  discerned  indistinctly.  He,  how 
ever,  rode  on  through  the  woods,  which  he  thoroughly  knew, 
at  a  trot,  and  was  just  descending  the  hill-slope  to  the  swamp, 
when  a  pistol  bullet  whistled  by  his  ears,  the  dull  report,  with 
out  echoes,  following  a  moment  after. 

His  blood  was  roused.  To  dash  into  the  thicket,  on  his  right, 
whence  the  shot  issued,  was  his  first  instinct,  but  he  felt,  the 
next  moment,  how  absurd  would  be  any  attempt  to  discover 
the  assassin  in  such  a  thicket,  and  amidst  the  increasing  dark 
ness.  He  gave  but  a  single  frowning  glance  at  the  dense  har 
borage,  and  congratulating  himself  upon  his  escape,  he  sped 
forward  with  as  much  haste  as  the  forest  would  permit,  and  was 
soon  beyond  the  reach  of  any  similar  salutation  from  the  same, 
hands. 

"  Missed  him,  by  jingo  !"  quoth  the  Trailer,  rising  from  his 
perch  some  twenty  steps  from  the  spot  where  Sinclair  had  passed. 

"  Dern  the  puppies  !  I  don't  believe  in  pistols  no  how.  But 
I  thought  I  had  him  dead.  I  never  was  good  at  no  kind  of 
shooting  we'pon,  and  I  don't  think  it's  the  business  of  a  trailer 
to  fight.  He's  only  got  to  trail,  and  scent,  and  scout.  Now  if 
Hell-fire  Dick  had  been  hyar,  we'd  ha'  fixed  him.  But  we've 
got  his  track  agin,  and  that's  something.  I  wander  ef  he's  got 
them  guineas  in  his  pouch  yit  ?" 

Our  major  bore  a  charmed  life.  He  crossed  the  river  in 
safety,  and  was  soon  in  the  camp  with  Abram. 


HOW   LOVERS   MAY   FC RGET   THEMSELVES.  357 

"  No  tidings  yet  of  Ballon,  'Bram  ?" 

"  Nebber  yar  not'ing  'bout  'em,  maussa.  I  feard,  ef  be  ain't 
drunk  someway  in  de  woods,  dem  tory  ob  Ingl'art  got  em. 

Sinclair  mused. 

"  'Bram  !"  said  be,  "  tbere  are  enemies  on  our  track.  I  have 
just  escaped  a  pistol-sbot." 

"  De  Lawd  be  praise!     Wbay,  maussa?" 

Sinclair  described  tbe  spot.  'Bram  knew  instantly  wbat  was 
to  be  done,  and  girded  bimself  up  accordingly  for  tbe  trail. 
"  Figbt  fire  with  fire,"  is  tbe  forest  maxim.  Let  tbe  scout  track 
tbe  scout.  Though  not  equal  to  Ballon,  not  equal  to  "  the 
Trailer,"  'Bram  bad  a  good  nose,  was  untiring,  sagacious,  vigi 
lant,  quick  to  follow,  and  keen  to  find. 

"  I  mus'  look  a'ter  dis  pistol-pusson,"  said  be  quietly. 

"  Yes,  'Bram,  that  is  wbat  you  are  now  to  do ;  but  the 
course  for  you  is  down  to  Holly-Dale.  You  must  cross  with 
me.  I  shall  be  about  tbe  bluff  till  midnight,  and  if  you  can  get 
up  to  me  by  tbat  hour,  we  shall  recross  together.  We  have 
got  too  much  work  to-morrow  not  to  need  all  the  sleep  we  can 
get  to  night,  and  my  eyes  are  even  now  drawing  straws." 

Tbe  canoe  was  put  out  with  the  two  in  it,  passed  rapidly  over 
to  the  other  side,  and  fastened  out  of  sight  among  tbe  swamp 
willows  at  tbe  foot  of  the  bluff.  Sinclair  gave  full  directions  to 
tbe  negro,  and  tbe  stout  and  faithful  fellow  had  soon  buried 
bimself  in  the  thickets  below  Holly-Dale,  and  was  working  bis 
way  downward,  sly  as  a  fox,  stealthy  as  a  serpent,  and  keen- 
eyed  as  a  lynx.  He  had  some  two  miles  to  go  before  be  could 
reach  the  spot  where  Sinclair  had  escaped  bis  peril.  We  need 
not  follow  him.  His  master  had  ascended  tbe  bluff  meanwbile, 
and  stolen  off  to  a  little  grove  of  cedars,  where  be  was  wont  to 
meet  with  Bertha  Travis  and  her  brother.  Here  he  laid  liins- 
self  down  to  wait.  He  looked  up  through  tbe  green  foliage,  ,-  t 
tbe  stars,  out  upon  tbe  river,  gliding  downward  with  a  ple.-.s- 
ant  murmur,  softly  bright,  darkly  clear,  and  with  awing  of  cool 
ing  speeding  over  its  surface  from  the  east.  Tbat  breeze  was 
full  of  the  inspiring  sense  of  life.  He  threw  bis  bosom  wide 
to  its  penetrating  freshness.  His  day  had  been  one  of  toil,  be 
neath  a  sky  that  seemed  all  one  sun.  He  bad  scarcely  rested 
from  motion  one  hour  in  the  twelve ;  and  the  present  respite, 


358  THE   FORAYERS. 

in  that  cool  breeze,  was  something  more  than  relief.  It  won 
him  from  musing  into  dreaming,  in  which  all  the  images  were 
delicious. 

After  a  while  two  figures  emerged  from  the  grove,  and  came 
out  upon  the  bluff.  They  were  Bertha  and  Henry  Travis. 

"  He  is  not  here,"  said  the  boy. 

"  He  is  among  the  cedars,"  answered  the  girl,  and  they  turned 
to  the  left,  and  moved  down  the  slope  leading  to  the  swamp, 
where  the  cedars  grew  most  thickly,  the  boy  leading  the  way, 
the  girl  following  slowly.  In  a  few  moments  he  hurried  to  her 
and  said  in  a  whisper  :  — 

"  Oh  !  Bertha,  would  you  believe  it,  he  is  asleep  under  the 
cedars,  sound  asleep !  Who  would  believe  it.  I  thought  a 
trooper  never  slept." 

And  he  laughed  merrily  at  his  own  notion.  The  girl  hesi 
tated  for  a  moment.  But  why?  Ask  that  inscrutable  little 
deity  who  occupies  so  gladly  the  vacant  places  in  a  virgin's 
heart,  to  unfold  to  you  the  mystery  of  his  rule,  and  the  caprice 
which  marks  his  impulse.  There  was  some  little  strange  con 
ceit  of  maidenhood  which  made  Bertha  Travis  reluctant  to  look 
upon  her  lover  sleeping.  It  was  a  new  situation  in  which  to 
see  him. 

But  Henry  pulled  her  forward. 

"  Only  think,  a  great  dragoon  officer  asleep  on  his  post." 

'•  He  must  be  very  tired,  Henry.  Besides,  he  is  not  now  on 
duty." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  boy  pertly  —  "but  you  know  nothing 
about  it.  He  told  me  himself  that  he  was  never  on  severer 
duty  than  now." 

"  And  it  has  exhausted  him." 

"  We  must  wake  him  up." 

"  No  !  Let  him  sleep.  He  must  be  very  much  tired  to  sink 
down  and  sleep  here." 

The  girl  might  well  say  that.  Sinclair  had  never  dreamed 
that  he  should  be  so  surprised  by  the  velvet-footed  god,  on  the 
very  threshold  of  his  sweetheart's  dwelling,  and  when  he  came 
especially  to  see  her. 

"  But  suppose  he  should  be  surprised,  Bertha,  by  some  of 
these  scouter?  ?  Who  knows  ?  They're  all  about. ' 


HOW    LOVERS   MAY    FOftGET   THEMSELVES.  359 

"  We'll  watch  for  him,  Henry,"  said  the  girl.  "  He  must  be 
very  tired  to  fall  asleep  here." 

Surely,  Bertha,  no  conclusion  could  be  more  logical. 

"  Very  well  !  I'll  keep  sentry  along  that  wood.  You  watch 
here,  Bertha,  and  when  I  give  the  alarm,  and  fire  off  my  piece, 
do  you  prepare  to  rouse  him  and  run.  Take  right  down  the 
slope  for  the  swamp ;  you'll  find  the  dug-out  down  among  the 
willows,  and  push  right  out  into  the  stream." 

The  boy  was  anxious  to  feel  his  responsibilities,  and  to  prove 
that  he  was  equal  to  them.  The  damsel  laughed. 

"  Where's  your  piece,  Henry  ?" 

"  Oh  !  never  mind.  I  only  used  the  military  phrase.  When 
I  give  tongue  and  shout,  you  may  know  that  the  enemy  is 
upon  us." 

And  the  boy  marched  away  full  of  dignity,  and  took  post 
along  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Bertha  walked  around  her  lover, 
looked  down  upon  him,  stole  nearer,  looked  out  to  see  if  Henry's 
eyes  could  watch  her  as  well  as  the  wood,  and,  seemingly  satis 
fied  of  the  impossibility  of  his  doing  the  feat,  she  suffered  her 
self  to  sink  down  near  the  head  of  our  sleeping  dragoon. 

Sinclair  slept  profoundly,  breathing  easily  and  gently,  as  if 
no  load  lay  upon  his  chest  or  conscience.'  Bertha  watched1  the 
noble  ingenuous  face  a&  it  lay  revealed  beneath  the  starlight, 
and  she  thought  —  ah  !  that  is  beyond  us  — we  really  know  not 
what  she  thought.  But  unquestionably  thought  was  busy  in  her 
little  brain,  and  feeling  in  her  heart.  The  picture  made  her 
think.  The  feminine  mind  thinks  through  pictures,  precisely 
as  does  that  of  genius  ;  hence  the  .delicacy  of  genius  —  its  ex 
quisite  sensibilities  which  can  appreciate  the  most  delicate 
sympathies  in  humanity.  It  is  because  of  t}\efe?ninine  element, 
which  distinguishes  the  true  genius  always.  It  is  the  soul  in 
forming  the  sensuous. 

We  have  no  right  to  pry  into  Bertha's  thoughts,  but  we  may 
watch  her  conduct.  She  gazed,  for  long,  upon  the  face  of  the 
sleeper,  seeming  never  weary  of  the. gaze  after  awhile  her 
hands  lifted  his  hair  —  he  had  made  a  pillow  of  his  cap  —  and 
drew  out  the  long  masses,  which  had  grown  in  the  busy  excite 
ments  of  war,  which  left  no  time  for  the  toilet,  almost  as  long 
ab  those  of  Absalom  or  Samson  ;  and,  playing  with  his  hair,  and 


360  THE    FORAYERS. 

looking  in  his  face  —  Bertha  finally  —  slept  also! — her  head 
being  quietly  suffered  to  rest  beside  her  lover's  —  while  one  of 
her  arms  —  of  course  without  her  consciousness  —  stretched  over 
and  rested  upon  his  bosom.  Was  ever  such  a  situation  ! 

Let  us  leave  them  for  a  space — leave  Henry  Travis  diligently 
playing  sentinel,  and  look  after  the  scouting  negro  'Bram. 

He  was  not  successful.  "  The  Trailer,"  after  the  escape  of 
Sinclair,  had  contented  himself  with  marking  the  trail,  and  then 
changed  his  ground.  As  a  good  scout,  he  knew  too  well  the 
danger  of  lingering  too  long  in  the  old  form.  He  had  mounted 
and  made  off  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after. 

But  'Brain  snaked  the  precinct  for  a  couple  of  tedious  hours. 
He  had  just  resolved  to  give  up  the  search,  and  return  to  his 
master,  when,  stretching  out  his  body,  for  relief  from  the  con 
tracted  position,  he  felt  a  heavy  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder 
from  behind.  The  heart  of  the  negro  was  in  his  mouth  in  an 
instant.  He  knew  that  the  enemy,  if  such  he  were,  had  him  at 
great  advantage,  and  with  a  grunt,  he  muttered  in  low  tones:  — 

"  Who  dat  r 

He  was  relieved  by  a  good-humored  but  subdued  laugh,  in 
the  well-known  voice  of  Jim  Ballou. 

"  And  I  say,  nigger,  is  that  the  way  you  do  your  scouting, 
grunting  as  you  go  —  as  you  go — just  like  a  lazy  hog  in  scarce 
acorn  time  ?  I  know'd  you  by  the  grunt,  twenty  yards  off.  I 
did — twenty  yards  off." 

"  Ha  !  I  so  glad.  I  bin  'feard,  Ballou,  when  you  put  you' 
paw  'pon  my  shoulder,  'twa  some  ob  dem  d — m'  Ingl'art  tory 
I  so  glad  'tis  you.  And  whay  de  debbla  you  bin  all  dis  time?" 

"  That's  what  we  may  talk  about,  old  fellow,  when  we  get  to 
camp  —  get  to  camp  !     Where's  the  major  now  ?" 
'   "  I  leff  him  on  de  Bluff  at  Holly-Dale." 

"  Well,  let's  go  there — go  !" 

And  thither  they  went. 

Our  young  self-appointed  sentinel,  Henry  Travis,  was  at  hi& 
post,  pacing  to  and  fro  .along  the  edge  of  the  wood,  satisfied 
that  he  was  doing  great  things,  and  doing  them  excellently 
well.  His  imagination  was  picturing  to  his  eyes,  a  future 
career  in  arms,  in  which  he  was  to  become  the  obssrved  of 
all  observers.  He  was  achieving  brilliant  enterprises;  passing 


HOW   LOVERS   MAY   FORGET   THEMSELVES. 

rapidly  through  all  grades  of  promotion ;  he  was  already 
a  colonel  of  cavalry,  and  calculating  a  quick  passage  over 
the  interval  separating  him  still  from  the  command  of  a  bri 
gade.  That  was  certain,  however.  Oh  !  the  dream  of  youth  ! 
how  pleasantly  it  persuades  the  hope  over  that  dreary  Za- 
hara,  which  teaches  us  the  sternness  of  truth,  in  its  naked 
simplicity,  at  such  perilous  cost  —  that  experience  which  young 
men  too  little  value,  and  old  men  are  apt  to  value  too  much ! 

Just  then,  the  boy  was  made  a  prisoner  —  clasped  tenaciously 
in  a  pair  of  rough  arms,  against  which  his  struggles  were  of  as 
much  avail  as  those  of  a  butterfly  in  the  vice  of  a  blacksmith. 

What  an  empire  of  dream  was  upset  in  a  moment.  The 
colonel  was  a  prisoner  —  the  hope  of  the  brigadiership  was  gone 
— gone — gone!  So  complete  was  the  surprise  that  the  poor 
sentinel  totally  forgot  to  discharge  his  piece  —  that  is,  forgot 
that  he  had  need  to  shout  his  loudest,  to  apprize  the  sleeping 
dragoon  of  his  enemy.  Before  he  quite  recovered  himself  to 

halloo  —  he  kicked  and  struggled  lustily,  however,  in  silence 

the  merry  chuckle  of  'Bram  relieved  him,  and  he  was  released. 
His  captor  was  Jim  Ballon,  who  said  to  him : — 

"  It  takes  a  good  deal,  Master  Henry,  to  make  a  sodger ;  and 
to  be  a  good  sentinel  a  man  ought  to  be  a  good  sodger.  It's  mighty 
hard  to  keep  down  thinking  when  a  man's  a  watching,  and  yet 
to  be  thinking  at  such  a  time  is  apt  to  turn  out  mighty  poor 
watching — poor  watching.  You  see  how  easy  it  was  to  capti 
vate  you." 

"  But  how  could  you  come  up  and  I  not  hear  you,  Mr.  Ballou  ?" 

"  That's  an  art  in  scouting,  Master  Henry,  and  if  Jim  Ballou 
is  good  for  anything  it  is  scouting.  I'm  a  sort  of  born  scout  — 
a  born  scout  —  it  comes  from  natur,  mostly,  though  one  has  a 
great  deal  to  larn  to  make  natur  perfect  —  perfect.  But  where's 
the  major  ?" 

"  He's  sleeping  yonder  down  among  the  cedars.  He  was  so 
tired.  We  found  him  asleep,  and  sister  said  she'd  watch  by 
him ,  and  I  was  to  watch  the  wood,  and  I  did  think  I  was  watch 
ing  closely,  and  to  be  so  caught !" 

The  boy  was  mortified.  It  was,  indeed,  something  of  a  fall 
from  the  brilliant  progress  to  a  colonelcy,  with  a  brigadiership 
in  the  vista,  into  sudden  and  unexpected  captivity 

16 


362  THE   FORAYEKS. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Master  Henry,"  said  the  scout  consoling 
him.  "  No  man  can  be  made  a  sodger  in  a  day,  or  a  year.  It's 
a  business  for  a  good  long  life.  It's  easier  a  great  deal  for  a 
young  man  to  fight  than  to  watch.  You  must  keep  his  blood  on 
a  boil  if  you  want  good  work  out  of  him.  On  a  boil,  I  say.  If 
you  don't  —  if  you  let  the  fire  burn  down,  he'll  be  looking  out 
for  the  stars,  and  walk  into  the  pit  —  into  the  pit.  Five  years 
sodgering  is  needful  to  make  a  fellow  even  a  good  sentinel,  and 
it  takes  more  than  that  a  great  deal  to  make  a  scout.  You'll 
do  better  on  a  charge  than  on  a  post,  Master  Henry,  and  you 
•needn't  get  vexed  with  yourself,  or  feel  ashamed  that  you  ain't 
a  perfect  sodger  at  the  beginning  of  the  war.  I  ain't  afeard 
that  you  won't  make  a  good  one  in  time  —  g  od  in  time.  You'll 
do  !  you  will !  But  let's  look  up  the  major  now.  He's  got  to 
open  his  eyes — yes,  open  his  eyes,  now." 

The  three  walked  together  across  the  bluff  toward  the  cedars, 
ind  Sinclair  and  Bertha  still  lay  sleeping  side  by  side,  her 
slender  arm  across  his  herculean  breast. 

"  Why,  they're  loth  asleep  !"  cried  Henry. 

"Yes,  who'd  believe  it!"  responded  Ballou.  "  It's  a  pictur' 
of  the  babies  in  the  wood  —  babies  in  the  wood." 

"  How  dat,  Jim  Ballou  !"  quoth  'Bram,  indignant.  "  You  call 
big  man  like  dat  baby  ?" 

"  Man  or  baby,  he  must  up  and  be  a-doing.  Hello,  major  ! 
Hello  !  and  heave  up  !" 

With  a  fling  that  shook  the  arm  of  Bertha  from  his  bosom, 
Sinclair  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  drew  his  pistols. 

"  Friends,  major,"  said  Ballou,  "  friends." 

"How!  what's  this,  Ballou?"  Then  seeing  Bertha,  now 
starting  up  and  rising,  bewildered  rather  than  ashamed  at  her 
situation.  "  Ha  !  you  too,  Bertha  ?"  And  he  clasped  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  When  did  you  come  ?" 

She  could  tell  him  nothing.  They  had  both  slept  three  hours 
at  least,  and  merrily  did  Henry  Travis  laugh,  and  pleasant  were 
the  mutual  chucklings  of  Ballou  and  Bram,  as  they  thought  of 
the  discovery. 

Poor  Bertha  knew  not  what  to  say.  Of  course  she  tried  to 
explain  and  to  understand.  She  had  watched,  she  knew  not 


HOW   LOVERS   MAY    FORGET  THEMSELVES. 

how  long,  and  still  lie  slept.  And  everything  was  so  quiet,  and 
Henry  was  on  the  watch  —  and  —  and  — 

"  Say  no  more,  dear  heart,"  said  Sinclair,  taking  her  long 
tresses  into  his  hands  —  they  had  escaped  the  comb  while  she 
slept — "  Say  no  more!  I  am  only  vexed  with  myself  that  I 
should  sleep  like  a  dullard,  without  once  dreaming  what  a  dear 
companion  was  at  my  side.  And  what  news,  Ballou  ?  Where 
have  you  harbored  so  long  ?" 

I  reckon,  major,  you  begun  to  think  I  had  fallen  back  upon 
the  Jamaica." 

"  I  confess,  Ballou,  such  were  my  fears  !" 

"  I  know'd  it !  I  know'd  it !  But  you  were  wrong.  Hadn't 
I  made  an  eternal  oath,  and  didn't  I  call  upon  the  Lord  himself 
to  be  a  witness  ?  When  I  break  that  oath,  major,  I'm  a  lost 
sinner  !  No  !  I  hain't  had  a  drop  to  drink,  and  not  always  a 
mouthful  to  eat.  I've  had  hard  work,  and  was  so  bewildered 
between  the  two  rapscallions,  Devil  Dick  and  the  Trailer,  that 
I  couldn't  get  to  you.  I  wished  a  thousand  times  that  I  could 
split  myself  into  three — into  three — split  myself  into  three 
parts  —  and  each  of  them  a  good  Jim  Ballou  scout — that  I 
might  do  the  thing  clean.  'Twas  work,  sir — work!  And  we've 
all  got  to  work,  sir.  There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  sir — in  the 
wind." 

And  the  party  seated  themselves  while  Jim  Ballou  told  the 
story  of  his  progress  from  the  moment  of  his  start,  on  the  trail 
of  the  two  outlaws.  We  shall  have  to  abridge  this  narrative  to 
our  limits,  though  Sinclair  found  it  an  interesting  one,  as  did 
Bertha  and  Henry  Travis. 


864  THE   FORAY EH8. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

DOUBT,    ANXIETY,    PREPARATION. 

"  Now  this  traverse, 

Will  he  as  promptly  take  and  well  pursue, 
As  if  the  zig-zag  of  the  perilous  road, 
Were  fashioned  in  his  brain  ; — each  trick  and  turn, 
Having  no  finger  pointer  on  the  route, 
As  legible  as  if  written  down  by  card." — The  Strategist. 

"You  had  the  start  of  them  twelve  hours,  major.  They 
tracked  you  to  Turkey  hill.  They  lost  you  there." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Ballou?" 

"  I  tracked  them,  and  found  where  they  were  at  fault.  I 
know  how  they  missed  you.  They  followed  your  trail  to  the 
stable,  and  supposed  they  followed  It  back  to  the  house  when 
you  set  out  again.  But  you  did  not  go  back  to  the  house, 
though  that  was  the  common  way,  when  you  went  off.  Youi 
horse  wasn't  brought  up  to  the  house  at  all.  You  went  to  the 
stable,  and  there  mounted.  I  found  your  moccasin  track  in  the 
sand  by  the  post  of  the  ga^e.  When  you  left  the  stable  you 
went  out  of  the  bacli  door,  there  you  mounted,  and  went  right 
clown  into  the  creek ;  you  kept  the  creek  up  for  twenty  yards, 
when  you  went  out  upon  the  banks,  and  there  took  the  Granby 
road  down  for  a  while,  Avlien  you  struck  into  Cawcaw  swamp, 
and  kept  the  edge  of  it  $11  you  were  within  a  mile  of  the  vil 
lage  ;  there  you  fastened  your  horse  to  a  hickory,  on  the  edge 
of  a  bay  that  was  a  sink  hole  —  and  pushed  out  straight  for  the 
village.  I  reckon  from  the  footmarks  of  the  horse,  stamping 
where  you  hitched  him,  that  you  had  him  there  half  the  night. 
You  brought  him  out  twenty  large  ears  of  corn  —  no  nubbins — 
and  three  bundles  of  fodder.  You  brought  it  yourself;  for  there 
were  no  foot-tracks  but  your  own  When  you  mounted  again. 


DOUBT,    ANXIETY,    PREPARATION  365 

which  I  reckon  you  did  just  about  daylight,  you  took  the  road 
on  the  outside  of  the  village  till  you  struck  in  for  the  bridge 
there  you  crossed,  pushed  up  the  river  road  for  a  bit,  then  went 
into  cover,  and  hitched  your  nag  again,  and  kept  him  some 
hours  hitched,  when  you  pushed  forward  again,  and  made  through 
the  woods  till  you  got  to  the  bluff  at  Holly-Dale.  Before  I  had 
done  tracking  you  to  the  village,  'Brain  caught  up  with  me,  and 
when  we  had  tracked  you  to  Holly-Dale,  we  crossed  the  liver 
at  the  ford  below,  and  I  planted  'Bram  in  the  camp  oppotite  the 
Holly-Dale  landing,  where  he  was  to  signal  you." 

"  So  far  right  —  all  as  you  say,  Ballon  !  But  what  made  you 
separate  from  'Bram  ?" 

"  I  didn't  think  he  was  of  much  account  in  helping  me — " 

"  Wha'  dat !  Ha  !   'Bram  nobody,  I  'spose  ?" 

"  Yes,  you're  good  enough,  'Bram,  and  could  ha'  helped  me, 
as  I  found  afterward,  but  I  didn't  think  it  then.  The  business 
then  before  me  was  to  find  the  trail  of  Devil  Dick  and  Brunson. 
That  was  the  true  business,  and  it  has  kept  me  mighty  busy  I 
can  tell  you  —  mighty  busy  ever  since  I  left  your  trail.  For 
you  see  Dick  and  Brunson  divided,  and  I  could  never  get  on 
the  spot  where  they  did  divide,  and  they  worried  me  from  side 
to  side,  with  the  crossing  of  their  trails,  and  I  did  not  dare  to 
leave  'em  to  bring  up  'Bram  for  fear  I  should  lose  'em  both. 
But  I  soon  found  that  when  they  had  lost  you  at  Turkey  hill, 
they  guessed  it  boldly  that  you'd  make  for  Holly-Dale,  and 
here  they  come,  almost  in  a  bee-line." 

«  Ah!  —  well!" 

"  They've  been  on  your  track  more  than  once,  but  I  don't 
think  they  found  out  our  ford  until  to-day,  even  if  they've  found 
it  out  at  all,  and  what  with  your  constant  changes,  and  the  use 
of  the  dug-out  both  here  and  at  Captain  Rowe's,  they've  been 
kept  mighty  busy  to  got  and  keep  on  the  track.  Well,  as  I 
was  to  watch  after  them  that  were  a-watching  after  you,  I  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  keep  their  trails  warm,  and  that's  been 
work  enough.  To-day,  Devil  Dick  laid  eyes  on  you,  I  reckon, 
for  the  first  time  He  must  have  seen  you  go  into  the  wood 
with  Captain  Travis.  He  was  hid  —  that  is,  his  horse  —  which 
is  Pete  Blodgit's  by  rights  —  was  hid  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bay  where  you  and  the,  captain  sat  and  talked.  I  reckon 


366  THE  FORAYERS. 

he  was  not  more  than  three  hundred  yards  of  you  all  the  time, 
but  I  couldn't  find  his  trail  anywhere  from  his  horse's." 

"  He  couldn't  have  heard  our  speech." 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  reckon  not.  The  bay  was  thick  and 
wide,  more  than  a  hundred  yards  across,  and,  as  I  tell  you  his 
nag  was  fastened  in  the  woods  t'other  side.  If  he  had  been 
watching  near  enough  to  hear  you,  he  would  have  been  quite 
near  enough  to  shoot  you  both,  and  I  reckon  there  was  no  good 
reason  why  he  shouldn't  do  it,  if  he  could.  He  passed  me  going 
down  —  I  suppose  after  you  had  gone  up  —  about  fifty  yards  off, 
and  was  then  going  it,  in  a  smart  canter,  toward  the  village. 
If  I  had  been  mounted,  I  could  have  overhauled  him  as  he 
rode,  but  my  horse  was  hidden  half-a-mile  off,  and  I  was  sna 
king  it  toward  the  bay,  where  I  know'd  you  had  gone  in.  As 
for  '  the  Trailer,'  I  lost  his  track  yesterday,  and  couldn't  stop 
to  hunt  it  up,  being  so  keen  after  Devil  Dick's,  though  from 
what  'Bram  tells  me,  and  what  I  know  myself,  it  must  have 
been  him  who  shot  at  you  this  afternoon.  'Bram  says  'twas  a 
pistol-bullet,  and  Brunson  and  Devil  Dick,  both  have  pistols 
and  nothing  else,  except  perhaps  a  knife ;  and  there's  been  no 
hostile  person,  that  I  could  find,  upon  any  of  the  tracks  here 
about  in  the  last  three  days.  Of  course  that's  always  excepting 
the  visit  of  Captain  Inglehardt  and  four  of  his  mounted  men  to 
Holly-Dale ;  but  they  took  openly  up  the  main  road." 

Sinclair  listened  to  this  narrative  with  close  attention,  inter 
rupting  it  only  when  he  desired  fuller  details  in  regard  to  par 
ticular  facts.  Ballou  resumed,  and  closed  thus  : — 

"  I  pushed  after  Devil  Dick,  till  I  made  sure  that  he  had 
crossed  the  bridge,  and  had  gone  into  the  village.  Then 
turned  about  and  pushed  up  where  I  thought  I  should  find  you. 
But  I  thought  it  best  to  snake  awhile  on  the  old  trail  of  Brunson, 
for  I  was  jubous  he  was  going  to  give  us  trouble ;  and  so  it  was 
that  I  happene'3  to  come  upon  'Bram,  who  was  crawling  over  a  log, 
and  forgetting  himself,  and  giving  a  grunt  like  an  old  hog  every 
now  and  then  ;  as  if  a  good  scout  wasn't  always  a  silent  dog." 

"  I  hu't  [hurt]  myse'f  on  de  log,  das  wha'  mek  me  grunt ;  and 
ef  you  bin  hu't  youse'f  like  me,  Mass  Ballon,  I  reckon  you  lay 
up  free  day  wid  grunts  and  'flictions." 

Ballou  didn't  notice  this  resentful  speech.     He  resumed  j— 


DOUBT,    ANXIETY,    PREPARATION.  367 

"  It's  for  you,  major,  to  say  what's  to  be  (lone.  There's  no 
saying  what  Devil  Dick's  gone  to  Orangeburg  for.  But  he's 
after  mischief.  He's  a  deserter  from  Inglehardt's  own  rangers, 
and  so's  Branson,  but  they'll  join  again,  if  Inglehardt'll  let 
them.  My  idee  is  that  he's  gone  to  make  terms  with  his  old 
captain,  and  that  he  expects  to  catch  you  here  at  Holly-Dale. 
So,  look  out — that's  all  —  be  on  the  look  out." 

"  Bertha,  I  must  see  your  father.  You  and  Henry  must  now 
return  to  the  house.  But  you  will  scarce  need  any  more  sleep 
to-night,  eh  ?" 

This  was  said  archly,  and  he  walked  on  with  the  damsel,  in 
the  direction  of  the  dwelling,  and  their  parting  words  were  in 
audible  to  other  ears. 

"  Henry,"  said  he  to  the  boy—"  are  you  willing  to  do  duty  ?" 

"Anything,  Major  Willie,  for  you." 

••  Do  you  know  the  place  called  '  Bull-fight  Pond'  ?" 

•'  Yes,  every  cypress  round  it." 

"  Can  you  get  a  horse  by  sunrise  to-morrow  and  canter  off 
there,  letting  nobody  know  but  Bertha  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  it,  if  I  let  nobody  know.  But  if  father  or 
mother  guessed  it,  they'd  never  suffer  it.  They're  for  keeping 
me  a  boy  always." 

"  Take  this  ring,  ride  thither  as  soon  as  you  can  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  you  will  probably  find  the  troops  of  St.  Julien  there.  Give 
him  that  ring,  by  which  he  will  know  that  you  come  from  me, 
and  tell  him  that  he  must  use  his  spurs.  Let  him  come  off  with 
you,  and  see  that  he  hides  away  in  the  wood  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road  just  fronting  your  upper  avenue.  He  will  know 
my  signal,  and  when  he  arrives  here  and  puts  himself  in  cover, 
tell  him  to  hang  out  his  as  agreed  on." 

The  brother  and  sister  moved  quickly  to  the  house.  Sinclair 
lurked  about  the  edges  of  the  thin  wood  which  lay  between 
him  and  the  river.  The  two  scouts  kept  watch  on  the  thickets 
below.  Soon,  Captaii;  Travis  joined  our  major  of  dragoons,  airi 
received  in  brief  sentences,  the  report  made  by  Ballou. 

It  staggered  him. 

"  This  is  unfortunate,  ft  will  precipitate  events.  I  expected 
to  break  with  him,  and  \v,.s  preparing  to  defy  him.  To-mor 
row's  interview  will  probably  enable  me  to  do  that.  But—" 


•°>68  THE    FORAYERS. 

The  other  interrupted  him. 

"  Of  that  interview  he  can  know  nothing.  I  have  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  this  spy  has  arrived  at  anything  more  than  the 
fact  that  we  have  been  together,  and  that  I  am  harbored  at 
Holly-Dale.  He  has  only  reached  me,  by  suspecting  that  I 
would  be  here." 

"  And  Inglehardt  will  seek  you  here  ?  He  hates  you,  and 
would  destroy  you  without  remorse." 

"  I  know  it  —  but  fear  nothing  for  myself.  I  shall  be  pre 
pared  for  Inglehardt  and  will  gladly  welcome  the  struggle  with 
him.  But  there  is  one  whom  I  am  loath  to  peril  here,  with  the 
chances  of  a  conflict  before  me,  the  results  of  which  are  doubt 
ful.  Why  not  defer  this  interview  ?" 

"  To  me  it  would  probably  be  fatal !  To  save  myself  I  shall 
have  to  fly  —  whither?  To  the  doubtful  securities  of  the 
American  party.  No  !  not  unless  I  had  the  one  guaranty  from 
the  only  hand  that  can  give  it.  I  must  have  his  pledge.  I 
will  trust  no  other." 

"  But  can  you  not  put  yourself  in  hiding  until  the  opportuni 
ty  for  the  meeting  is  afforded  you  ?" 

"That  would  be  fatal  to  my  fortunes.  It  would  be  equiva 
lent  to  a  full  confession  of  all  that  might  be  charged  against  me, 
and  would  lead  to  the  confiscation  of  all  my  effects." 

"  Your  negroes  might  le  run  this  very  night.  'Bram  will  take 
iharge  of  them  to  and  across  the  Santee." 

"  I  will  not  risk  that.  I  know  that  Rawdon  with  his  twelve 
hundred  men  are  approaching  from  the  Congaree.  I  know 
that  Stewart,  with  a  like  force  and  convoy,  is  pressing  up  from 
below,  to  a  junction  with  Rawdon  Between  these  armies  the 
risk  would  be  immense,  since  they  necessarily  preclude  the 
possibility  of  any  American  parties  between." 

"Not  so  conclusive.  Greene  is  in  full  pursuit  of  Rawdon, 
find  his  forces  consist  mostly  of  mounted  infantry.  Sumter, 
Washington,  Marion,  and  Lee,  working  apart  at  this  moment, 
are  under  orders  for  co-operation.  They  will  unite  and  force 
Rawdon  to  an  engagement,  with  the  odds  all  on  our  side.  But 
do  you  know  that  Cruger  is  pressing  down  from  Ninety-Six 
with  a  force  of  twelve  hundred  also,  the  garrison  at  that  place,' 
and  all  the  loyalists  of  the  region,  the  men  all  mounted,  and 


DOUBT,   ANXIETY,   PREPARATION.  369 

ordered  to  take  this  very  route  between  the  forks  of  Edisto  ? 
Judge  what  are  the  chances  of  safety  for  your  negroes,  if  Cru- 
ger  finds  them  here,  and  learns  from  Inglehardt  that  you  have 
abandoned  the  royal  cause." 

Travis  clasped  his  head  between  his  hands. 

"  On  every  side  I  see  the  danger.  But  Cruger  is  not  here 
yet,  and  can  not  well  be  here  under  three  days ;  and  I  will  not 
—  I  dare  not  —  trust  the  Americans  with  my  property,  until  I 
have  the  guaranty  of  that  one  signature  which  alone  can  insure 
me  safety.  If  it  comes  to  the  worst,  Major  Sinclair,  I  can  al 
ways  buy  off  Inglehardt." 

"  With  the  hand  of  your  daughter  ?"  said  the  other  indig 
nantly. 

"  Ay,  sir  !  and  a  child,  for  whom  a  father  has  toiled  all  his 
life,  may  well  make  a  sacrifice  in  his  behalf,  which  will  insure 
her  all  that  he  has  toiled  for." 

Sinclair  strode  the  ground  to  and  fro,  with  impatience,  anxi 
ety,  and  a  feverish  vexation,  which  he  could  scarcely  suppress 
from  speech. 

"  Captain  Travis,"  he  said,  "  is  it  possible  that  you  do  not 
see  what  you  require  me  to  put  in  peril  —  the  very  destinies  of 
the  state?" 

"  I  can  not  help  it,  sir !  I  must  have  the  required  securities. 
None  other  will  avail  me.  But  I  do  not  think  that  Inglehardt 
will  attempt  anything  so  soon.  He  knows  not  what  we  know. 
He  only  knows  that  you  have  been  with  me  —  that  you  are 
lurking  about  —  and  that  I  am  dealing  with  you,  and  so  against 
himself." 

"And  will  not  this  precipitate  his  action?" 

"  Not  till  he  is  stronger.  His  force  is  small,  and  he  will  ap 
prehend  from  Coulter." 

''  Captain  Travis,  I  pledge  you  my  life  that  you  will  receive 
the  required  indemnity  without  needing  Ms  presence  here.  I 
will  guaranty  it.  Say  the  word,  and  I  despatch  Ballou  to  keep 
him  from  coming  here.  I  will  remain,  and  do  what  I  can  toward 
receiving  Inglehardt  in  a  proper  manner." 

But  Tvavis  had  become  dogged  in  degree  with  his  own  ap 
prehensions. 

"I  must  have  the  signature  —  the  certificate  —  and  then  I 


870  THE  FORAYERS. 

care  not  how  soon  the  issue  comes.  I  shall  then  be  ready  for 
any  evei.l.  But  I  know  too  well  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
whigs  to  the  loyalists  to  trust  them  without  written  security, 
which  shall  acknowledge  my  services,  now,  while  the  war  lasts, 
and  after  it,  when  the  reign  of  peace  shall  witness  the  resent 
ments  of  society  against  the  victims  of  war.  I  must  insist  upon 
the  arrangement  or  nothing." 

"  Be  it  so.  I  shall  submit  the  facts  to  himself,  though  I  ride 
all  night.  He  shall  determine  for  himself." 

"  Remember,  Major  Sinclair,  how  many  necks  of  Charleston 
citizens  lie  in  my  keeping !" 

"  Do  not  threaten,  Captain  Travis,  I  implore  you  !"  was  the 
answer,  in  tones  full  of  disgust. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  sir.     Tell  him  all." 

"  Enough;  I  will  tell  him  all  that  it  is  proper  he  should 
know.  But,  I  would  have  you,  as  the  father  of  Bertha  Travis, 
forbeai  a  language  which  would  give  her  pain,  and  can  not  do 
you  honor." 

"  Oh  !  sir,  I  have  survived  the  romantic  notions  of  youth." 

"  Honor  and  magnanimity  are,  I  trust,  not  less  the  virtues 
of  age.  Can  it  be,  sir,  that,  under  any  circumstances,  you 
would  give  up  to  British  vengeance,  the  people  of  whom  you 
speak  ?" 

"  I  must  make  them,  if  need  be,  the  price  of  my  own  security." 

"  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  Sinclair,  striding  away.  He  returned 
a  moment  after. 

"  Sir  —  Mr.  Travis  —  T  will  communicate  with  my  principal 
to-night.  He  shall  know  the  risk  which  he  is  required  to  en 
counter,  and  if  he  determine  to  meet  you,  I  will  do  all  that  I 
can  to  see  that  he  does  not  suffer.  If  you  will  not  trust  me,  Tie 
may  trust  you ;  and  I  —  I  will  put  my  trust,  under  God,  in  my 
self,  and  my  own  resources.  Enough  then  —  I  must  hasten 
from  you.  One  word  before  we  part.  You  have  those  fatal 
papers  in  safety  I" 

"I  have!" 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  friend's  counsel.  If  there  be  any  of 
your  papers  in  the  village  likely  to  give  you  trouble,  gallop 
down  there  to-night,  with  all  the  secrecy  you  can,  and  get  them 
in  your  possession." 


DOUBT,   ANXIETY,   PREPARATION.  S7J 

"  I  am  safe  in  that  quarter." 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  leave  you.  If  you  do  not  hear  from 
me  by  midday  to-morrow,  take  for  granted  that  we  withdraw 
from  the  meeting.  It  is  one  which  I  dare  not  counsel  now." 

The  next  moment,  Sinclair  had  left  the  place,  and,  accom 
panied  by  Ballou  and  Abram,  was  recrossing  the  river  to  his 
camp.  There,  he  gave  commissions  to  both,  which  were  to  be 
executed  before  morning,  and  while  he  himself  prepared  to 
leave  the  swamp  for  a  rapid  ride  toward  the  northeast,  Ballou 
set  off  for  the  ford  with  instructions  to  seek  for  Coulter  ;  'Brain, 
on  the  other  hand,  *ped  away  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  If  there  is  to  be  treachery  and  danger,"  said  our  major  of 
dragoons  to  him,  "  they  shall  not  find  me  unprepared." 

At  twelve  o'clock,  the  next  day,  Travis  received  a  slip,  jn- 
taining  these  words  : — 

"  Let  him  of  H.  D.  know  that  I  see  no  reason  to  depart  from 
our  arrangement  as  originally  made.  J.  R." 

It  was  enough.  Travis  destroyed  the  paper  as  soon  as  he 
had  read  it.  He  had  heard  nothing  of  Inglehardt.  The  day 
was  calm  and  bright.  He  did  not  believe  that  he  had  anything 
to  fear.  Inglehardt  was  not  likely  to  hurry  himself.  He  did 
not  relish  open  demonstrations.  He  preferred  a  secret  policy, 
and  this  always  requires  time. 

Where,  meanwhile,  was  Sinclair  ?  —  where  Ballou  and  'Bram  ? 
Young  Henry  Travis,  too,  has  gone,  unsuspected  upon  his  mis 
sion—brave,  ambitious  boy  —  speeding  at  a  smart  canter  in 
search  of  the  troop  of  St.  Julien.  All  are  at  work ;  all  busy  to 
one  end,  the  issue  of  which  is  yet  deeply  hidden  beneath  the 
cloudy  veil  which  ever  hides  the  coming  dawn.  They  are  all 
busy,  and  with  cheerful  hearts  and  hopeful  spirits.  But  the 
adverse  stars  are  working.  Their  enemies  are  busy  also ;  as 
how  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  —  the  natural  antagonism  of  evil, 
being  the  true  motive-power  for  the  exercise  of  good  !  Oh  ; 
what  an  absurdity  were  Virtue,  if  Vice  stood  not  confronting 
her,  with  black  aspect,  and  serpent  cunning,  and  horrent  spear  ! 


872  THE   FORAYEES. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

DICK    OF   TOPHET   ON    THE    CARPET. 

"  Command  our  present  members 
Be  mustered  ;  bid  the  captain  look  to  't     Now,  sir, 
What  have  you  dreamed  of  late  of  this  war's  purpose  ?"••••- 
"  We'll  slip  you  for  a  season  1" — Oymbeline, 

IT  was  night  when  Hell-fire  Dick  found  himself  in  Orange- 
burg,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  widow  Bruce's  dwelling. 

Captain  Tnglehardt  had  been  busy  all  the  day  with  his  raw 
recruits,  preparing  for  a  recommencement  of  the  duties  of  the 
field,  and  especially  seeking  to  have  them  in  readiness  for  the 
prospective  encounter  Math  the  troop  of  Coulter.  His  scouts 
were  still  on  the  hunt  below,  along  the  swamps  of  Edisto. 
Inglehavdt  sat  in  his  chamber  seeking  solace  in  his  pipe,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Dick  of  Tophet  stood  before  him  —  wild 
of  aspect,  shaggy  haired,  with  ragged  raiment,  the  grim  picture 
of  the  ruffian  and  outlaw  that  he  was. 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  captain  of  loyalists  recog 
nised  his  visiter.  When  he  did,  he  said  :  — 

"  What !  You  !  Are  you  not  afraid  to  show  yourself  here, 
Dick  1  Don't  you  know  that  your  life  is  forfeited  1  What 
should  keep  you  from  the  gallows,  fellow,  if  I  should  call  in  a 
few  of  my  troopers  ?" 

"  They're  not  in  calling  distance,  cappin.  I  took  care  of 
that  afore  I  come  here.  I  know  jest  where  they  keep,  and 
know  that  ef  'twas  in  me  to  do  sich  a  thing,  I  could  slash  you 
to  pieces  afore  you  could  sing  a  psalm.  No  !  no  !  I  felt  my 
way  all  along  as  I  come,  and  I  made  sure  thai*  was  no  risk.  I 
am  too  old  a  sodger  to  trust  any  offser  in  the  army  with  my 
life." 

The  coolness  of  the  ruffian  might  have  alarmed  a  more  timid 


DICK   OF  TOPHET   ON   THE   CARPET.  373 

and  less-prepared  person  than  Richard  Inglehardt.  He  simply 
cast  his  eyes  upon  the  pistols  that  lay  before  him,  convenienl 
to  his  grasp,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rapier  which  had  just  been 
unbuckled  from  his  side,  and  leaned  against  the  panel  of  the  fire 
place.  To  grasp  either  would  have  been  easy.  But  Inglehardt 
knew  his  man,  and  well  conceived  that  he  never  would  have 
shown  himself  but  that  he  had  a  bargain  to  drive  promising 
some  advantages  for  any  favor  he  might  receive.  Besides,  ho 
was  never  more  in  want  of  such  a  person  than  at  the  present 
moment,  and  half-fancied  that  the  devil  had  sent  him  for  tlie 
peculiar  emergency.  Still,  he  was  not  prepared  to  admit  his 
own  wants,  or  to  accord  his  favor  too  readily.  He  answered  the 
ruffian  in  the  same  spirit  which  prompted  his  first  address. 

"  Rascal !  You  have  at  least  lost  none  of  your  audacity. 
Rags,  wretchedness,  starvation,  outlawry,  none  of  these  seem  to 
humble  you.  You  a-re  a  fool,  Dick,  with  all  the  devil  that  you 
have  in  you.  As  for  slashing  me  to  pieces,  I  could  blow  your 
brains  out  before  you  could  lift  a  finger.  Do  you  suppose 
that  because  my  troop  is  in  the  woods,  that  I  have  not  help  at 
hand  ?" 

At  this  moment,  a  footfall  behind  the  intruder,  and  between 
him  and  the  door,  caused  him  to  turn  his  head  ;  when  he  beheld 
a  great  tall  angular  backwoodsman,  weapon  in  hand,  who  had  just 
entered  the  apartment.  His  presence  seemed  to  confirm  Ingle- 
hardt's  boast  of  succor,  and  occasioned  a  doubt,  in  the  mind  of 
the  intruder,  whether  he  himself  was  secure.  In  an  instant  his 
couteau  de  chasse  was  flourished  in  one  hand,  while  he  drew  a 
pistol  with  the  other. 

"  It'll  be  a  bear  fight  first,  I  tell  you  —  tooth  and  nail!" 
cried  the  ruffian  desperately,  and  receding  obliquely,  so  as  to 
face  both  Inglehardt  and  the  backwoodsman.  The  latter  carried 
a  bayonet  at  his  side,  but  he  seemed  taken  all  aback  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  affair. 

"  Pshaw!"  said  Inglehardt,  with  quiet  scorn,  taking  up  and 
tapping  his  snuff-box  —  "  you  will  still  be  a  fool,  Joel  Andrews. 
Do  you  suppose  if  I  wished  for  your  worthless  life  that  I  would 
suffer  you  to  stand  for  a  moment  ?  Put  up  your  weapon  ;  and 
do  you,  Brownlee,  take  yourself  off  for  a  while.  I  do  not  want 
you." 


374  THE   PORAYERS. 

"  Bill  Graham  has  come  in  from  below,  sir " 

"  Well,  let  him  wait." 

Brownlee  was  retiring  when  Inglehardt  called  him  back. 

"  Stay,"  said  he  —  "  send  Graham  up.  I  will  finish  with  hib. 
first." 

Brownlee  went  out,  and  Graham  the  next  moment  came  in 
—  another  stout  forester. 

"Well  Graham." 

"  Coulter's  gone,  sir,  gone  up  and  across  South  Edisto.  He 
went  yesterday,  they  tell  me.  He  was  about  Chevillette's  till 
night  afore  last,  was  then  seen  about  the  Pou  Settlement,  after 
wards  pushed  off  for  Cannon's.  Fry  and  Nathan  both  report 
his  troop  at  fourteen  or  fifteen  men." 

"  Fourteen  or  fifteen  men  !  We  can  manage  them,  I  think. 
Have  you  anything  farther  to  report,  Graham  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"  Well,  go  below,  and  remain  with  Brownlee.  I  shall  prob 
ably  call  you  after  a  while." 

"  And  these  fellows  do  your  scouting,  cappin  ?"  said  Dick  of 
Tophet,  after  the  other  had  departed,  with  something  of  con 
tempt  in  his  speech. 

"  Yes  !     Could  you  do  better,  Dick  ?" 

"  Couldn't  I  ?  —  and  thar's  '  the  Trailer*  with  me,  who's  worth 
a  dozen  of  sich  chaps." 

"  The  Trailer  !     Dy  you  mean  Brunson  ?" 

"  Jest  so  !     He's  worth  a  dozen  of  'em." 

"  And  is  he  with  you  ?" 

"  He's  not  far  off." 

"  Ha !  very  good.     And  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself." 

"  Well,  I've  got  to  say  that  I'm  mighty  hungry,  and  I  want 
some  good  clothes." 

"  Faith  you  do  ;  you  have  been  rolling  in  the  briers  for  a 
month,  I  fancy,  and  your  desire  is  to  be  well  fed,  and  decently 
clad,  that  you  may  look  the  better  in  the  rope." 

'  I  hain't  got  the  feeling  of  rope  about  my  neck  this  time, 
cappin." 

"  But  you  deserve  it .  You  are  a  deserter  from  the  anna  ot 
his  majesty." 

"  I  knows  it." 


DICK   OF   TOPHET   ON    THE   CARPET.  376 

"  You  have  been  serving  in  the  ranks  of  Marion." 

"  Yes,  I  sarved  them  in  sich  a  way  that  they  made  the  rope 
ready  for  me  on  the  Santee,  and  ef  twarnt  for  the  old  devil's 
good  help,  I'd  ha'  been  run  up  to  a  swinging  limb,  without  a 
sign  of  a  jacket  on  me." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  us  ?" 

"  Well,  that  little  slaughtering  business,  which  was  all  a 
haccident,  as  I  may  say,  the  killing  of  old  Gregson  and  his  wife." 

"  And  wasn't  that  enough  to  hang  a  dozen  such  fellows  as 
yourself.  You  plundered  and  murdered  the  people  that  gave 
you  supper  and  a  bed." 

"  Psho,  cappin,  that  ain't  the  way  to  name  it.  The  old  man 
swore  agin  me  for  robbing  him." 

"  And  you  did  rob  him." 

"  'Twant  no  robbery  !  I  jest  took  a  little  change  of  clothes 
that  I  wanted,  and  that  he  hadn't  much  use  for,  and  there  was 
a  little  money  in  the  pockets.  I  warn't  to  know  that.  And  the 
old  fellow  set  upon  me  like  a  mad-dog,  and  I  down'd  him." 

"He  had  no  weapons." 

"  I  don't  ax  that  question  when  a  fellow  takes  me  by  the 
throat,  cappin." 

"  But  the  wife  —  you  stabbed  her." 

"  Well,  she  flew  at  me  too.  There  was  them  two  upon  me 
one,  and  they  pulled  and  hauled  me  about  as  ef  I  was  nobody. 
Flesh  and  blood  can't  stand  everything." 

"  Joel  Andrews,  flesh  and  blood  find  such  deeds  as  yours  a 
hanging  matter,  even  in  war-time." 

"  Well,  I  know  you  ain't  a-gwine  to  hang  me  for  that  busi 
ness.  Why,  cappin,  it's  high  time  that  it  was  clean  forgot. 
It's  a  year  old,  by  this  time." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  in  the  way  of  burn 
ing,  and  robbing,  and  slaughtering  ?" 

"  Well,  cappin,  I  don't  care  to  be  talking  of  sich  little  mat 
ters,  and  thar's  no  use  for  it.  Least  said's  soonest  mended. 
You  see  me  here  now,  willing  to  make  up  and  jine  you,  and 
sarve  the  king  once  more,  and  do  good  service." 

"  Until  you  run  again  !  No  !  no  !  Joel  Andrews,  there's  no 
trusting  you.  I'm  afraid  you've  come  to  be  hung." 

"  Not  this  time,  cappin.     A  born  inseal,  like  myself,  is  a  leetla 


376 


THE    FORAYERS. 


too  useful  for  you  now  to  give  him  up.     You're  a-wanting  mek 
at  the  bottom  of  your  soul,  this  very  minute." 
"  You  are  a  born  devil,  Andrews." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  so  sure  but  it's  the  better  for  me,  considerin 
the  sort  of  people  I  hev'  to  sarve." 

"  The  father  of  lies  is  certainly  your  father." 
"  Edzackly ;  yet  I  makes  a  good  use  of  the  truth  when  I  kin 
get  it.     I've  got  some  truth  now  that  you'd  like  to  hear,  cap- 
pin." 

"  Ah !  you  are  for  making  terms  for  your  life,  Dick." 
"  Not  so,  cappin ;  I'm  for  making  tarms  for  sarvice,  and  em 
ployment,  and  a  handsome  payment.  I  knows  very  well,  the 
valley  of  what  I've  got  to  tell  you;  and,  I  rcckcn,  you  knows 
me  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  I  wouldn't  ha'  been  so  quick  to 
put  myself  into  the  halter,  ef  I  hadn't  something  to  say  that 
would  spell  me  out  of  it  and  something  more.  So,  jest  let's 
come  to  the  marrow  of  the  matter,  right  away,  and  jest  you  say 
that  all's  safe,  and  that  I  shall  hcv'  a  little  of  the  king's  kine 
[coin]  in  my  pocket,  and  his  picture  to  swear  by  in  the  ranks, 
oft*  and  on  duty,  and  I'll  fill  your  ears  with  a  wagon-load  of  in 
telligence,  sich  as  none  of  your  green  scouts  could  gather  for 
you  in  a  year  of  Sundays." 

"  Well,  let's  hear  your  intelligence." 
"  Is  it  a  bargain,  cappin  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so  !  Perhaps  you  won't  hang  this  time,  though 
hanging  is  as  surely  your  doom,  Dick,  as  if  you  were  born  to  it. 
Still,  I  have  no  wish  to  play  Jack  Ketch  for  you." 

"  It's  a  long  road  to  the  sea,  cappin.     I  don't  think  I'm  to 
hang  so  long  as  the  old  devil  has  something  for  me  to  do,  and 
that's  jest  as  long  as  I'm  in  the  sarvice  of  a  cappin  of  rangers." 
"  Don't  be  saucy,  Dick." 

"  Not  for  the  world,  cappin ;  but  say  out,  up  and  down,  am 
1  to  hev'  the  king's  kine  again,  and  to  wear  his  pictur  ?  —  that's 
to  say,  s'posing  I  have  something  to  tell  you  now,  that  yon'cl 
like  to  hear  better,  prehaps,  than  anything  else  that  a  man 
could  tell  you.  You  wants  my  sarvices,  I  know,  and  thar's 
Rafe  Brunson,  the  Trailer,  as  good  a  scout  as  ever  stcpt  in 
mockasin,  betwixt  here  and  Tarrapin  Heaven.  You  wants 
men  ami  scouts  badly,  and  then  there's  my  news,  you  know." 


DICK   OF    fOPIIET    ON   THE   CARPET.  377 

•  Well,  Dick,  I  can't  be  too  hard  on  you,  and  if  your  news  i» 
really  worth  anything — " 

"  It's  worth  everything.  It'll  put  Willie  Sinclair  in  you) 
power ;  and  if  rope's  the  word,  why  you  kin  give  him  as  many 
ties  of  it  as  you  think  proper." 

"  Do  that,  Joel  Andrews,  and  you  shall  have  all  that  you  ask.t: 

"  It's  a  barg'in,  and  now  jest  you  listen." 

Inglehardt  threw  himself  back  in  a  listening  attitude,  helped 
his  nostrils  to  a  morsel  of  Scotch  snuff,  and  motioned  his  com 
panion  to  proceed.  Dick  of  Topliet  began  his  narrative.  We, 
who  already  know,  from  actual  observation,  so  large  a  portion 
of  it,  will  not  need  to  hear  the  elaborate  recital  of  the  ruffian-. 
We  shall  content  ourselves  with  abridging  his  report,  which 
was  sufficiently  full,  except  in  those  portions  where  he  had  his 
own  most  villanous  deeds  to  relate.  Of  these,  there  are  many 
not  known  to  us ;  but  these  are  not  essential  to  our  story,  and 
still  less  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  his  ruffianism.  We  shall 
begin  with  his  pursuit  of  Sinclair. 

"  We  tracked  him  up  to  Turkey  hill,  and  thar  we  lost  him 
How,  1  don't  know;  but  I  never  seed  the  Trailer  so  off  the 
scent.  But  we  guessed  whar  he  was  aguine,  for  we  know'd 
pretty  much  that  he  was  a'ter  that  gal  of  Travis.  Well,  we 
scouted  the  woods  all  about  Holly-Dale,  but  we  couldn't  find 
the  trail.  How  he  did  manage  to  kiver  up  his  tracks  thar's  no 
say  ing.  But  thar  he  was." 

"  He  used  a  boat." 

"  Well,  thar's  no  tracking  a  boat  in  the  water,  and  it's  hard 
pulling  one  up  stream,  though  an  easy  matter  to  go  down.  But 
knowing  that  he  would  be  thar  —  for  when  a  chap's  a'ter  a  gal, 
he's  apt  to  stick  to  the  chase  —  we  kept  beating  about  the  stamp 
ing-ground,  sure  to  hev'  him  at  the  last.  And  we  was  sworn, 
both  me  and  the  Trailer,  to  hev'  this  same  Willie  Sinclair." 

"  Why  were  you  so  hot  on  his  trail,  Dick  ?" 

"  Look  at  these  burns  here,  on  my  back,  on  my  hands,  on  my 
feet.  Why,  I'm  in  a  sort  of  fiery  furnace  now,  all  the  time, 
though  they  ain't  hafe  as  bad  as  they  was  three  days  ago." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Sinclair  burned  you  thus  ?"  de 
manded  Inglehardt,  as  the  other  displayed  the  scars. 

"  Well,  'twas  all  owing  to  him,  and      may  as  well  say,  right 


378  THE   FORAYERS. 

away,  that  lie  cVid  it.     'Twas  to  git  out  of  his  roping  that  I  had 
to  walk  into  the  fire,  and  lie  down  on  the  blazing  lightwood." 

Here  the  outlaw,  having  previously  suppressed  the  account 
of  his  attempt  on  the  Sinclair  Barony,  was  compelled  to  supply 
his  deficiencies.  Inglehardt  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  Hark  you,  Dick,  this  is  a  serious  matter,  for  you,  should  it 
reach  the  ears  of  Lord  Rawdon.  Do  you  not  know  that  old 
Sinclair  is  a  friend  to  the  royal  cause,  and  intimate  with  Lord 
Rawdon  V 

Well,  I  didn't  ax  about  all  sich  matters,  when  I  thought  of 
the  gould  and  silver  at  the  Barony,  and  of  them  hundred  gould 
guineas  in  the  pockets  of  Willie  Sinclair  —  and  he  is  no  king's 
man,  as  you  know." 

"  Ah  !  ha  !  so  you  knew  that  Willie  Sinclair  had  a  hundred 
guineas  in  his  pocket  ?  And  how  did  you  know  that  ?  I  can 
well  understand,  now,  why  you  have  been  hunting  him  so 
handsomely." 

"  In  course,  thyar  was  reason  for  it.  In  course,  I  knew  about 
the  guineas,  and  how  and  where  he  got  them." 

Here  he  had  to  take  another  leap,  and  go  back  over  a  chasm 
in  his  narrative.  The  history  was  gradually  unfolding  itself 
clearly  to  his  auditor. 

"  But  I  shan't  tell  you  any  more  of  the  matter,  cappin,  ef 
you're  not  guirie  to  make  me  safe.  You  talks  as  ef  you'd  hev' 
to  give  me  up  to  Lord  Rawdon,  about  that  Barony  affair." 

"  If  he  ever  hears  of  it,  and  looks  after  you,  Dick,  I  don't  see 
how  I'm  to  escape  giving  you  up ;  and  I  certainly  would  do  so, 
if  he  should  require  it  —  unless — " 

"  Well,  unless  what  ?" 

"  Why,  unless  you  took  the  hint  before  the  halter,  and  found 
your  way  into  the  swamp,  and  forgot  entirely  that  the  provost 
was  waiting  for  you  under  a  tree,  with  a  plough-line  dangling 
in  his  fingers." 

"  Oh  !  I  see  !"  —  with  a  chuckle  — "  well,  I'll  hold  it  as  your 
promise  that  I'm  to  hev'  a  hint  of  the  s'arch  whenever  they're 
aguine  to  begin  it." 

Inglehardt  nodded  his  head  with  a  smile,  and  again  took  snuff 

•  Well  a  nod's  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse.  I'm  sat 
isfied.  —  So,  as  I  was  a-telling  you — " 


DICK  OP  TOPHET  ON  THE  CARPET.         079 

And  the  outlaw  resumed  his  narrative,  and  detailed  his  unex 
pected  discovery  of  Sinclair,  in  the  conference  with  Travis. 

"  And  they've  made  tarms  to  meet  to-morrow  at  Holly-Dale. 
1  We'll  be  with  you  thar,'  says  Sinclair,  '  at  three  o'clock 
edzackly.' " 

Inglehardt  listened  to  this  statement  with  unexampled  com 
posure.  He  tapped  his  mull  quietly,  fed  the  reddened  nostril, 
smiled  complacently  on  the  ruffian,  and  motioned  him  to  pro 
ceed  ;  though  all  the  while  a  raging  spirit  in  his  bosom  —  a 
rousing  fury  —  ~>vas  goading  him  with  the  mortifying  conviction 
that  Travis  had  outwitted  him,  and  that  he  was  betrayed  to  his 
enemy  and  rival.  Neither  he  nor  Dick  of  Tophet  ever  fancied 
that  the  party  destined  to  meet  with  Travis  was  to  be  any 
other  than  Sinclair  himself. 

Inglehardt  sifted  well  the  evidence  of  the  outlaw,  cross- 
examined  him  closely,  and  gleaned  from  him  numerous  particu 
lars  of  his  progress  and  discovery,  which  need  not  be  again 
repeated.  He  rapidly  formed  his  own  plans  as  he  listened. 

"  And  now,  cappin,  I  must  hev'  a  little  ready-money.  Look 
at  my  clothes.  I  hain't  had  a  full  feed  for  a  week ;  and  as  for 
a  sup  of  Jamaica,  the  sweet  critter  is  a  parfect  stranger  to  my 
lips," 

In  silence,  Inglehardt  rose,  took  a  bottle  of  rum  from  his 
closet,  pointed  to  a  glass  and  bade  the  other  help  himself. 
Then,  as  Dick  drank,  he  wrote  a  billet  which  he  handed  him. 

"  Take  that  to  Elbridge.  You  will  find  him  at  Baltczegar's. 
He  will  provide  you  with  clothes.  Here  are  two  guineas.  Use 
them  sparingly ;  the  commodity  is  scarce,  and  will  be  scarcer, 
unless  we  can  get  the  hundred  which  Sinclair  carries  in  his 
pouch." 

"  Ah !  I  don't  reckon  he  carries  it  about  with  him  all  the 
time.  He's  hid  it  away,  I'm  jubous,  when  he  went  to  Turkey 
bill." 

"  Tell  me,  Dick,  how  was  it,  that,  hating  him  as  you  do,  and 
knowing  of  this  money,  you  didn't  shoot  him  down  where  he 
sat,  when  he  talked  with  Travis.  It  would  have  pleased  me 
quite  as  well,  ha  1  you  left  me  nothing  to  do  in  this  matter." 

This  was  said  very  quietly  and  mildly,  without  the  slightest 
of  passion  or  vindictiveness. 


80  THE  FOIIAYEIIS. 

"  Wouldn't  I  hev'  done  it,  ef  thar  had  been  been  a  decent 
chaince.  But  look  at  them  dirty  little  puppies" — casting  a 
pair  of  pistols  on  the  table  — "  and  say  ef  one  would  be  sensi 
ble  to  take  a  risk  on  sich  we'pons,  at  fifteen  paces,  agin  two 
men,  and  one  of  them  sich  a  man  as  Willie  Sinclair  ?" 

"  But  you  have  your  knife  besides." 

"Yes;  but  it's  a  word  and  a  blow  with  Sinclair;  and  I've 
had  the  weight  of  his  fist  upon  my  ear  once  a'ready.  I  tell  you, 
big  man  as  I  am,  and  tough  as  an  old  alligator,  I  went  down 
under  his  fist  like  a  great  bullock  under  the  axe  of  a  butcher. 
He's  a  most  powerful  fellow  in  the  gripe,  and  I  know'd  them 
pistols  worn't  worth  at  over  five  steps.  Then  agin,  I  thought 
we'd  have  him  sure  enough  to-morrow,  ef  he  keeps  his  word 
to  Travis." 

"  Ay,  so  we  may  have  him ;  and  I  trust  he  will  keep  his 
word.  You  say  he  has  no  one  with  him  ?" 

"  None  that  we  could  get  the  wind  of.  He's  sartinly  got  no 
troopers.  We  left  St.  Julien  crossing  the  Santee  with  all  the 
corn  and  cattle  he  could  gather  up." 

Well,  go  and  get  your  clothes  and  supper,  and  return  to  me 
in  one  hour.  I  shall  see  that  you  have  immediate  employment. 
We  must  have  the  Trailer  in.  Can  you  find  him  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  after  a  sign.  We  agreed  on  one  afore  we  divided. 
Two  hours  will  help  me  to  pick  him  up." 

"  I  shall  employ  him  also.  Enough  for  the  present.  Away 
now,  and  supply  yourself.  Let  me  see  you  within  the  hour  — 
and  —  Andrews  —  see  that  you  keep  sober." 

"Jest  so,  captain,  and  ef  I'm  not  to  drink  out  of  doors,  I 
reckon  you'll  not  think  it  onreasonable  ef  I  wets  my  whistle 
agin  afore  I  go." 

And  he  coolly  helped  himself  to  a  second  and  very  potent 
stoup  of  the  Jamaica.  Inglehardt  beheld  the  measure  of  the 
potation  taken  Avithout  any  apprehension.  He  knew  what  that 
arid  soil  could  receive  without  being  flooded. 

Inglehardt  was  alone  in  his  chamber. 

"  So,  Captain  Travis,  we  at  last  fully  understand  each  other. 
Now,  at  least,  I  fully  understand  you.  You  have  embraced  my 
enemy.  You  are  now  iny  enemy.  Fool !  you  believe  that  rebel 
lion  is  to  triumph.  You  are  for  making  terms  with  rebellion.  You 


DICK   OF   TfTFET   ON   THE    CARPET.  381 

woull  secure  your  spoils.  But  you  shall  do  so  through  me  only 
and  at  one  price.  Bertha  Travis  shall  be  mine  —  she  shall 
never  wed  with  Willie  Sinclair.  I  will  bring  you  both  to  my 
feet,  whence  neither  shall  rise  in  safety,  but  to  satisfy  my  desires. 

"  I  have  you  now  ! 

"  Sinclair  too  in  my  power  !  He  shall  die.  Why  didn't  this 
rascal  shoot  him  down  even  where  he  sate.  Cowed  !  cowed  by 
,1  buffet !  But  the  game  is  still  in  my  hands." 

And  his  plans  were  all  arranged  by  the  time  that  Dick  of 
Tophet  reappeared.  He  was  now  clad  in  the  dark  green  uniform 
faced  with  red,  of  the  corps  of  mounted  rangers  which  Inglehardt 
commanded.  He  carried  a  dragoon  sabre,  with  pistols  of  larger 
calibre  than  those  he  had  worn  before.  A  shaggy  cap  of  fur, 
too  heavy  for  the  season,  formed  a  part  of  his  equipment ;  and 
cap  in  hand  —  resuming  the  more  respectful  department  of  the 
soldier  to  his  superior,  he  waited  orders. 

These  were  given,  without  delay,  and  he  was  despatched  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  on  a  mission,  which  involved  the  finding 
and  employing  of  Brunson,  the  Trailer,  and  a  further  duty 
which  they  were  to  take  together. 

We  are  not  yet  permitted  to  know  what  are  the  plans  of 
Inglehardt.  They  must  develop  themselves.  Enough  to  know 
that  he  was  subtle,  cool,  calculating,  vigilant,  taking  no  rest,  no 
respite,  while  the  game  was  in  progress.  He  was  busy  all 
night,  and  threw  himself  down  for  a  few  hours'  sleep  cnly  when 
the  day  was  near  its  dawn.  His  force,  we  may  mertion,  with 
late  additions,  had  grown  to  thirty  troopers,  all  told, 


THE   FORAYKKB. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 
•WILES  AND  SUNSHINE — BLOWS  AND  BONDS. 

THE  game  of  war,  unlike  that  of  chess,  admits  too  greatly  tue 
interposition  of  fortune,  to  leave  skill,  however  admirable,  any 
security  from  vicissitude.  It  was  a  wise  superstition  of  Sylla, 
which  made  him  ascribe  all  his  successes,  however  great,  the 
exercise  of  his  own  genius,  courage  and  caution,  to  the  favors 
of  the  fickle  goddess.  The  wise  man  will  always  thus  make  due 
allowance  for  those  caprices  of  fortune  against  which  it  is  not 
possible  for  any  foresight  to  provide.  As  he  will  leave  nothing 
to  Fate  which  can  be  encountered  by  judgment  and  precision,  so 
will  he  rise  above  the  reverses  which  are  apt  to  flow  from  condi 
tions  over  which  he  can  exercise  no  control.  He  will  suffer 
himself  neither  to  forget  his  prudence  in  success,  nor  sink  into 
despondency  from  failure.  The  soul  for  the  great  struggle  im 
plies  always  great  equanimity  of  temper  and  a  cheerful  fortitude. 

The  players  at  this  game  of  war  in  our  humble  legend, 
Sinclair  and  Inglehardt,  have  placed  their  men,  decided  upon 
their  game,  exercised  the  coup  d'ceil  with  ample  and  deliberate 
vision,  and  have  staked  very  considerable  issues  upon  the  re 
sult.  We  are  to  understand  that  each  has  made  his  arrange 
ments  for  the  conflict  according  to  his  resources  and  his  best 
ability,  and  these  have  been  put  in  motion,  in  accordance  with 
the  degrees  of  knowledge,  which  they  severally  possess,  of  the 
conditions  under  which  they  work.  It  is  not  the  least  difficult 
feature  in  this  game  of  war,  that  the  facts  are  so  rarely  to  be 
grasped  with  certainty  and  entireness  by  any  military  genius. 
Inglehardt,  assuming,  according  to  all  the  information  he  could 
obtain,  a  certain  state  of  things  for  Sinclair,  has  made  himself. 
in  Viia  own  notion >  very  sure  of  the  result.  He  rias  omitted  none 
of  the  precautions  which  could  u;ake  the  results  certain.  And 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE — BLOWS   AND    BONDS.          383 

this,  too,  without  any  open  display  either  of  his  objects  or  re 
sources  His  troop  has  disappeared  from  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  Orangeburg.  His  preparations  have  been  also  made  for  his 
own  personal  departure  —  at  a  certain  hour.  Meanwhile,  he 
surrenders  himself  up  to  apparent  idleness.  He  lounges  about 
the  house  of  the  widow  Bruce,  with  an  air  of  lassitude  which 
seems  to  deprive  him  of  all  his  energies.  He  expects  a  visitor, 
in  fact,  and  would  have  him  suppose  that  nothing  has  undergone 
any  change  in  his  feelings,  his  purposes,  his  conduct.  He  is, 
to  the  last,  a  creature  full  of  stratagem.  He  is  playing  his  game 
even  while  he  seems  drowsing  over  it. 

And  what  is  Sinclair  about  ?  At  present  he  is  not  in  the 
field,  that  we  can  see.  He  has  eluded  our  vision.  But,  know 
ing  him  as  we  do,  we  may  take  for  granted  that  his  game  occu 
pies  all  his  thought— that  he  is  somewhere,  in  some  quarter  of 
the  field,  making  his  preparations  also — exercising  the  utter 
most  forethought — providing  against  possible  reverses  —  bring 
ing  all  his  faculties  to  bear  against  the  coming  necessity.  He, 
too,  has  his  stratagems,  but  they  contemplate  only  single  objects. 
They  are  not  complicated  like  those  of  Inglehardt.  He  prefers 
the  open  to  the  sly  game — the  manly  to  the  merely  cunning. 
His  anxieties  are  great — greater  than  those  of  Inglehardt, 
since  he  has  a  greater  stake  in  the  game.  He  stakes,  on  the 
issue,  other  purposes  than  those  which  simply  affect  himself! 
Let  us  suppose  him  at  work,  as  he  ought  to  be,  and  leave  him 
for  the  present  to  his  secret  operations. 

What  visiter  does  Inglehardt  expect  ?  Whom  does  he  de 
sire  to  delude  with  an  appearance  of  apathy,  which  is  so  totally 
untrue  to  what  he  has  done,  and  what  he  contemplates  doing, 
that  day  1  He  contemplates  another  meeting,  and  trial  of  wits, 
with  Travis,  before  those  revelations  are  finally  made  which 
shall  strip  both  parties  of  the  mask. 

And  what  of  Travis  1  He  has  risen  from  a  sleepless  conch 
full  of  anxieties.  He  feels  how  much  he  also  has  at  stake,  in 
the  game  which  is  to  be  played  to-day.  His  night's  reflections 
nave  tended  greatly  to  inspire  him  with  the  anxieties  which 
oppressed  Sinclair,  and  to  make  him  feel  the  impending  peril  to 
iris  fortunes.  He  is  somewhat  touched  too,  by  the  reflection 
that  his  selfishness  has  been  exacting;  and  that,  in  itoiumg 


384  THE   FORAYERS. 

Sinclair  to  the  arrangements  for  the  intervie  v  assigned  for  the 
ifternoon,  and  under  threatening  circumstances,  he  has  been 
innecessarily  tenacious  of  his  own  objects,  to  the  great  hazard 
•>f  other  parties.  But  a  life  of  selfishness  is  not  to  be  rebuked 
11  a  moment.  He  has  been  a  hard  and  exacting  man  always; 
ind  he  silences  his  self-reproaches,  with  the  reflection  that  it  is 
too  late  now  to  amend  his  fault.  That  it  is  now  impossible  to 
see  Sinclair  and  make  other  arrangements. 

But  his  reflections  have  made  him  grave ;  and  secretly  they 
have  somewhat  tended  to  the  growth  of  a  more  trusting  faith 
and  more  generous  impulses  in  his  heart.  Having  eaten  break 
fast  in  silence,  he  orders  his  horse,  and  calls  Bertha  Travis  into 
his  chamber.  There  he  produces  a  little  tin  case  which  might 
contain  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper  folded  compactly.  He  holds  it 
in  his  hands  for  a  short, space  in  silence,  as  if  doubtful  of  his 
purposes.  Bertha  gazes  on  him  with  anxiety.  Travis  was  a 
person  of  a  hard  nature,  not  easily  moved  to  exhibit  his  emotion  ; 
still  less  was  he  given  to  show  any  despondency  of  spirit,  even 
in  moments  of  reverse  and  disaster.  The  unusual  depression  of 
mood  under  which  he  labored  had  arrested  the  anxious  atten 
tion  of  both  his  wife  and  daughter  while  he  sat  at  table.  This 
depression  was  now  so  much  more  decided  that  the  girl  could 
not  forbear  referring  to  it,  and  asking  the  reason.  He  answered 
her  : — 

"  I  am  about  to  ride  down  to  Orangeburg,  where  I  trust,  in 
one  hour,  to  finish  all  the  business  I  shall  ever  have  with  Richard 
Inglehardt  and  the  British  commissariat." 

"  I  am  so  glad,  father." 

"Yet  something  depresses  me,  Bertha  —  something  like  a 
presentiment  of  evil.  I  must  go.  This  is  the  day  for  my 
monthly  closing  of  accounts,  and  I  must  not  be  absent  from  my 
post,  lest  it  lead  Inglehardt  to  suspicion.  You  know  enough  to 
understand  that  he  has  cause  of  suspicion.  You  know  him  too 
well,  and  his  objects,  not  to  understand  that,  with  him,  to  suspect 
is  to  watch,  and  follow,  and  if  need  be,  strike.  In  brief,  I  am 
not  sure  of  my  ground,  and  events,  of  the  highest  importance, 
are  ripening  to-day,  which,  if  successful,  will  relieve  me  of  him 
• — relieve  me  of  many  anxieties  besides  —  and  relieve  me  of  al] 
future  connection  with  the  British  army.  As  a  matter  of  course, 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE  —  BLOWS   AND   BONDS.          385 

my  future  hope  must  depend  upon  the  success  of  the  whigs. 
It  is  due  to  myself,  my  child,  to  assure  you  that  my  present  de 
cision  has  been  mainly  taken  because  of  your  relations  with 
Major  Sinclair.  But  for  these,  I  should  never,  perhaps,  until 
too  late,  have  had  my  eyes  opened  to  the  rights  of  the  Ameri 
can  cause,  and  to  its  probable  success.  The  desire  to  see  you 
happy,  with  a  man  whom  I  honor,  as  much  as  you  love,  has 
unsealed  my  vision,  and  taught  me  better  lessons  of  my  country. 
It  is  probable  that  Inglehardt,  whom  I  have  long  baffled,  is 
partly  the  possessor  of  my  secret  policy.  I  would  save  you 
from  him,  even  if  I  should  not  save  myself;  for  his  is  the  very 
soul  of  treachery,  and,  I  may  find  myself  in  his  grasp  at  the 
very  moment  when  I  flatter  myself '  I  am  wholly  out  of  it. 
Now,  I  wish  you  to  pledge  me  solemnly,  whatever  shall  happen 
to  me  —  no  matter  what  you  hear  —  no  matter  what  my  situa 
tion,  that  you  will  never  marry  him  /" 

The  girl  smiled  as  she  replied : — 

"  Surely,  my  father,  that  needs  no  pledge  —  no  solemn  prom 
ise.  I  know  no  being  whoso  presence  I  so  much  loathe,  as  that 
of  Richard  Inglehardt." 

"I  believe  it — I  know  it;  and  I  know  that,  with  a  free 
choice  left  you,  there  could  be  no  danger  that  you  would  ever 
place  yourself  in  the  power  of  so  cold-blooded  and  selfish  a  tyrant. 
But  you  may  not  be  allowed  a  choice.  There  may  be  situa 
tions  in  which  you  may  be  placed,  in  which  you  may  deem  it  a 
duty  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  others  — sacrifice  your  own  heart  — 
for  others ;  for  a  father's  life,  for  example." 

"  Oh  !  surely,  my  dear  father  there  is  no  danger  which  now 
threatens  you." 

"No!    perhaps  not!     Danger,  no!     None,  at  least,  which 

iocs  or  can  do  more  than  threaten.     But  who  is  secure who 

can  be  secure— at  such  a  time  as  this,  and  in  the  present  con 
dition  of  the  country  ?  Danger  is  all  about  us,  more  or  less 
threatening  of  aspect.  We  are  between  two  fires.  There  are 
two  great  combatants  in  the  field,  both  insisting  upon  our  alle 
giance,  both  able  to  hurt,  neither  quite  strong  enough  to  protect 
us.  In  such  cases  the  wise  man  takes  all  the  precautions  that 
he  can,  and  with  the  best,  still  feels  that  his  prospect  ia  every- 
where  clouded  with  uncertainty.  We  are  in  a  perilou 


s  con- 
7 


386  THE   FORAYERS. 

juncture  now,  and  great  events  are  pending,  in  which  one  of 
the  ships  must  gD  down.  Which?  I  have  endeavored  to  steor 
my  way  in  safety,  more  with  regard  to  my  family  than  myself. 
I  have  determined  now  upon  a  course  which  involves  much 
uncertainty ;  a  course  which  must  make  this  man  Inglehardt  a 
decided  enemy." 

"  He  is  not  your  friend  now." 

"  He  is  no  man's  friend ;  but  there's  no  strife  between  us ; 
we  are  on  terms  ;  but  such  only  as  belong  to  selfish  objects. 
He  finds  me  useful  —  would  make  me  profitable  —  aims  at  your 
hand  —  or,  rather,  at  the  fortune  which  he  supposes  you  will 
inherit.  But  I  should  writhe  in  my  grave,  Bertha,  did  I  know 
that  he  were  the  possessor  of  either." 

"  Never  fear,  dear  father  !     I  loathe  and  detest  him." 

"  Yet  women  have  been  compelled  to  marry  the  very  object 
of  their  loathing." 

"  Never  shall  the  case  be  mine." 

"  Remember,  Bertha,  I  hold  this  as  your  solemn  pledge,  as  it 
were  above  the  grave.  I  shall  expect  you  to  keep  it  whatever 
may  happen.  Whatever  you  hear  —  if  tidings  are  brought  you 
that  I  am  in  the  hands  of  my  enemy  —  in  chains  —  threatened 
with  death  —  a  sudden  and  a  shameful  doom  —  nay,  should  you 
get  a  letter  from  my  hand  requiring  you  to  wed  with  Richard 
Inglehardt,  as  the  price  of  my  life  and  safety  —  heed  it  not! 
Be  sure  that  it  is  a  forgery,  or  that  it  has  been  wrung  from  me 
by  tortures  which  have  left  me  incapable  of  a  true  thought,  or 
an  honest  desire." 

"  Oh  !  my  father,  why  conceive  these  fearful  things  ?" 

"  No  matter  !  You  will  heed  and  obey  my  present  wishes. 
You  will  cling  to  the -pledge  you  make  me  now.  You  will 
never  wed  with  Inglehardt.  Nay,  so  soon  as  Sinclair  asks 
your  hand,  promise  me  to  give  it  him.  I  could  die  cheerfully 
to-morrow  were  I  sure  that  you  were  his  wife,  and  safe  in  the 
honor  of  his  name.  Do  I  have  your  promise,  Bertha  ?" 

"  Dear  father,  it  is  easy  to  make  it.  My  heart  has  long  been 
his  —  his  wholly." 

"  Enough  !  It  is  your  pledge  to  me  at  a  moment,  Bertha, 
when  I  may  be  speaking  to  you  from  the  grave." 

"  Do  not  entertain  such  gloomy  thoughts." 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE  —  BLuWS    AND    BONDS.          387 

"  I  am  no  longei  a  young  man.  I  am  engaged  in  perilous 
enterprises.  I  ha/e  fearful  enemies.  Even  now  I  ride  to 
Orangeburg  to  meet  with  Inglehardt.  His  policy  is  not  easily 
fathomed.  He  feels  that  you  hate  him.  He  knows  that  I  do. 
If  he  suspects  that  I  arn  about  to  free  myself  utterly  from  his 
control,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  he  will  not  attempt." 

"  Why  go,  then  ?  why  put  yourself  into  his  power  1  why  i.ot 
at  once  join  Willie  Sinclair,  and  let  us  all  fly  across  the  Santcc 
—  now,  this  very  day,  this  hour?" 

"  Easier  said  than  done  !  No  !  I  must  see  through  this  day 
here,  on  the  Edisto  —  close  it  if  possible  at  Holly-Dale.  To 
morrow — but  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  Here 
is  a  letter  to  Sinclair.  Take  it  and  this  case.  Should  I  fail  to 
be  here  when  Sinclair  arrives,  give  this  letter  and  case  into  his 
hands.  He  knows  what  to  do  with  them.  Your  mother  has 
my  instructions  also.  She  will  put  everything  into  his  hands 
should  I  fail  to  appear  at  the  appointed  hour.  Keep  these 
safely  and  secretly,  and  about  you.  Do  not  leave  the  house. 
Say  to  Sinclair  that  I  leave  everything  to  him,  and  have  here 
given  him  the  best  proofs  that  I  confide  in  the  magnanimity  of 
the  person  he  will  bring  with  him,  to  procure  for  my  family  the 
safety  which  I  seek  for  them;  and  now,  my  child,  one  kiss  — 
one  embrace  —  and  leave  me  awhile  with  your  mother." 

The  girl  threw  herself  into  his  arms  — threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  kissed  and  clung  to  him  fondly. 

"  Where's  Henry  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  have  not  seen  him  this 
morning." 

"  He  has  gone  on  a  mission  for  Willie.  He  went  by  daylight 
this  morning." 

"  Up  or  down  ?" 

"Up." 

"  Kiss  him  for  me,  Bertha.  Love  him  well !  I  would  like 
to  have  clasped  the  boy  once  more  to  my  heart." 

And  — strange  sight  to  Bertha  — the  big  tear  grew  and  glis 
tened  in  the  eye  of  the  hard  and  otherwise  selfish  man.  Hers 
were  streaming  freely.  Once  more  he  kissed  and  embraced  her 
with  a  nervous  fondness,  then  gently  pushed  her  away. 

"Now  go  and  send  your  mother  to  me." 

With  a  sudden  impulse  the  girl  once  more  threw  her  arms 


388  Tllh    FORAYERS. 

around  lier  father's  neck,  once  more  kissed  him  affectionately, 
then,  as  if  fearing  to  trust  herself  to  speak,  turned  away  sud 
denly  and  left  the  chamber  in  silence.  In  a  few  minutes  her 
place  was  supplied  by  her  mother. 

The  husband  put  his  arms  affectionately  about  his  wife,  drew 
her  to  his  bosom,  and  looked  earnestly  and  tenderly  in  her  face. 
They  had  been  wedded  nearly  thirty  years :  the  alliance  be 
tween  them  had  been  one,  which,  in  spite  of  his  hard  and  selfish 
nature,  had  been  productive  of  a  certain  and  equal  degree  of 
felicity  —  perhaps,  in  as  great,  as  is  ordinarily  shared  between 
married  people  who  indulge  in  no  extravagant  expectations 
from  life,  or  from  human  affections.  She  knew  his  frailties,  but 
lie  had  been  faithful  to  her.  He  had  been  an  indulgent  hus 
band  and  a  kind  father.  His  evil  aspect  had  been  usually 
turned  away  from  his  household. 

"  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  distress  you  by  a  repetition  of 
our  conference  last  night.  You  know  the  nature  of  the  dangers 
which  I  apprehend.  You  also  know  that  I  can  not  well  avoid 
to  meet  them.  If  I  face  them  boldly,  they  may  lose  their  char 
acter  of  danger.  If  i  skulk  them,  they  become  decidedly  a 
peril.  But,  no  more  of  this.  Anticipating  the  worst,  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  must  fly  to  the  Santee,  to  my 
sister,  the  moment  that  you  discover  that  anything  has  hap 
pened  to  me.  Should  I  fail  to  return  to-day,  you  must  prepare 
for  immediate  flight.  Sinclair  will  see  to  the  arrangements ; 
at  all  events,  see  to  hurrying  away  the  negroes,  under  a  proper 
escort.  We  may  trust  to  his  honor.  More  :  it  is  my  wish  that 
his  marriage  with  Bertha  should  take  place  —  if  lie  is  willing — 
as  soon  as  you  can  learn  that  I  am  in  bonds  or  danger  from 
Inglehardt.  Were  I  sure  of  this  marriage,  I  should  be  better 
reconciled  to  every  danger.  But  I  trust  every  thing  to  Sinclair's 
honor  and  discretion.  He  has  both  in  eminent  degree.  He  is 
generous  and  noble.  His  conduct  has  shamed  mine,  and  I  have 
to  deplore  that  its  effect  was  too  slowly  felt  to  enable  me  to  save 
him  the  peril  which  now  threatens  both  of  us  equally.  The 
stroke  which  places  me  at  the  foot  of  Inglehardt,  will  be  one 
which  will  descend  at  the  same  moment  upon  his  head.  Ay, 
and  upon  the  head  of  another,  whose  peril  I  tremble  to  think 
anon.  But  Sinclair  is  forewarned,  and,  I  trust,  forearmed.  At 


SMILES    AND   SUNSHINE — BLOWS   AND    BONDS.  389 

all  events,  lie  is  vigilant  —  a  man  of  great  precautions  —  and,  1 
din  in  hopes,  of  resources  adequate  to  the  present  exigency. 
There !  I  have  told  you  all  that  I  now  need  to  say.  Remem 
ber,  you  are  not  to  delay  in  what  you  do,  in  the  indulgence  of 
vain  fears,  or  as  vain  anticipations,  touching  my  fate.  The  mo 
ment  you  find  me  missing,  that  very  moment,  if  possible,  carry 
out 'my  instructions.  Send  off  the  negroes,  and  fly  yourself 
with  our  children.  In  my  letter  to  Sinclair,  I  have  declared  to 
him  my  wish  that  he  should  marry  Bertha,  without  delay,  if  the 
proceeding  conflicts  with  no  earnest  necessity  or  important  pol 
icy  of  his  own.  And  now,  my  wife,  we  part !  God  bless  and 
keep  you  safely,  whatever  fate  may  befall  me !" 

The  stately,  and  we  may  say,  the  noble  old  lady  was  sensibly 
touched.  The  present  attitude  of  her  husband  ennobled  him. 
He  was  behaving  generously  —  far  more  than  was  his  wont  — 
far  more  than  we  can  well  conceive  from  the  few  facts  which 
we  have  arrayed  in  this  narrative  by  which  to  illustrate  his 
character; — generously,  in  a  readiness  to  sacrifice  himself  for 
his  children,  at  a  moment  when  he  might  possibly  save  himself, 
by  their  sacrifice.  His  heart  was  not  wholly  the  home  of  self 
ish  passions. 

A  brief  twenty  minutes,  perhaps,  were  consumed  in  this  in 
terview  between  the  father  and  mother,  when  he  emerged,  com 
posed  seemingly,  from  the  chamber.  A  fond  and  lingering  look 
he  cast  about  him  over  the  fair  fields  and  old  groves  of  Holly- 
Dale.  The  place  never  looked  so  beautiful  before.  It  seemed 
the  very  home  of  peace.  Then  he  quietly  mounted  his  horse, 
and  turned  downward,  for  the  road  to  Orangeburg. 

He  was  gone  from  sight  in  a  few  moments  ?  and,  sadly  ap 
prehensive —  for  he  had  imparted  his  own  presentiments  to  both 
wife  and  daughter  —  they  watched  together,  for  long  and  in 
silence,  over  the  route  which  he  had  taken. 

He  pursued  his  way  to  the  village  without  interruption;  pro 
ceeded  to  his  room  at  Baltezegar's,  where  he  kept  his  office,  and 
where  he  destroyed  his  papers,  such  as  ho  did  not  think  proper 
to  preserve.  These  he  stuffed  into  his  pockets.  Of  course,  he 
was  private  in  his  office  when  these  duties  were  performed. 
Soon  he  had  visitors,  and  some  that  he  knew  were  only  spies. 
He  met  them,  and  baffled  their  inquisition  with  a  calm  visage, 


390 


TIIE    FORAYERS. 


and  the  resources  of  a  cool  brain  and  a  ready  mind.  Ingle 
hardt  knew,  meanwhile,  of  his  arrival ;  knew  of  his  visitors  j 
guessed  at  his  secret  employments,  and  smiled  at  his  progress. 
He  knew,  too,  that  Travis  would  be  with  him  in  the  course  of 
the  morning  —  an  hour,  perhaps,  before  he  was  prepared  to  re 
turn  to  Holly-Dale.  Inglehardt  waited  with  the  exemplary 
patience,  but  vigilant  eye  of  the  spider,  who,  in  his  hole,  sees 
the  fly  circling  or  loitering  about  the  distant  meshes  which  he 
has  stretched  around  him,  unsuspected,  in  all  directions. 

"Keep  him  in  sight!"  was  his  simple  command  to  all  his 
agents.  He,  meanwhile,  showed  himself  quite  at  ease;  lan 
guidly  lounging  in  his  oaken  chair,  in  loose  trousers,  and  a  linen 
morning-gown,  his  pipe  well  replenished,  sending  up  occasion 
al  curling  clouds;  head  thrown  back,  and  heels  upon  the  table. 
His  eternal  snuff-box  lay  at  hand,  open,  ready  for  use  when 
ever  he  should  have  a  companion.  He  was  thus  habited,  and 
posed,  when  Travis  sought  him,  which  he  did  about  twelve 
o'clock. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  captain,  how  are  you  ?  And  how  is  that  ex 
cellent  lady  Mrs.  Travis  —  and  how  is  the  fair  creature  of  my 
constant  thought,  your  daughter  ?" 

This  was  said  drawlingly,  with  a  languid  smile  upon  the 
speaker's  lips,  and  an  air  of  the  most  perfect  complacency. 

"D — d  puppy!"  was  the  self-spoken  feeling  of  Travis,  who 
yet  replied  quietly  as  if  totally  unruffled  : — 

"  Pretty  well ;  a  little  oppressed  in  this  hot  weather." 
"  It  is  growing  terrible.  1  can  hardly  endure  it,  I  am 
dreaming  nightly  of  a  siesta  upon  an  iceberg.  No  breath  of 
air  here  last  night.  I  am  in  the  wrong  chamber.  I  must  cer 
tainly  see  Bruce  to-day,  and  get  another  room.  A  sleepless 
night  is  followed  by  a  drowsy  day.  I  am  not  well  awake  this 
morning  —  have  done  nothing  —  can  do  nothing.  Yet,  I  have 
enough  to  do.  I  ought  to  be  stirring  to  see  after  that  rebel, 
Coulter.  Yet,  the  very  idea  of  marching  in  this  hot  sun  is  ter 
rible.  By  the  way,  do  you  hear  anything  of  the  fellow  1" 
"Not  a  syllable!" 

"  I  fancy  he  has  gone  toward  the  Savannah.  Yet  I  can 
gather  no  intelligence.  I  must  certainly  be  moving,  yet  dare 
not  with  my  awkward  squad.  I  must  get  these  ungainly  fel- 


lows  into  something  like  military  order,  before  I  can  hope  U 
make  a  successful  dash  with  them.     In  a  week,  perhaps — 

Here  he  paused,  and  stirred  his  pipe  and  replenished  it. 

"  He  talks  too  freely;  all  at  once,"  was  the  thought  of  Travis 
u  He  means  mischief."  But  he  said  nothing  to  this  effect ;  bare 
ly  asked  after  the  news,  and  responded  in  sympathy  to  his  com 
panion's  complaints  about  the  weather ;  and  then,  practising 
after  Inglehardt's  subtle  fashion,  he  added  : — 

"  I  dread  the  thoughts  of  taking  the  sun  homeward  at  my 
usual  hour,  and  shall  probably  stay  till  the  cool  of  evening." 

"Right!"  said  Inglehardt.  "I  shouldn't  be  persuaded  to 
that  ride,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  for  a  hundred  guineas.  1  am 
half  dead  with  the  heat  in  the  shade  —  here  even,  where  you 
see  there  is  an  eastern  exposure.  But  what's  the  hour  ?" 

"  Twelve  by  the  sun  !" 

"Heavens!  and  I  am  hardly  awake!  and  can't  wake.  You 
see  my  deshabille.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  do  anything  till  evening ;  yet  my  ragged  rascals  ought 
to  be  seen  to." 

"  Where  have  you  got  them  1" 

"  Somewhere  in  the  woods.  I  left  it  all  to  Fry.  The  little 
rascal  is  a  sort  of  salamander  —  don't  mind  heat  at  all  —  rather 
loves  it,  I  think.  Last  night,  I  found  him  dancing,  with  a 
dozen  women  in  the  camp,  to  the  music  of  the  old  fiddle  of  Cato 
Cusack." 

"  Has  that  old  African  turned  up  again  ?" 

"  Yes  !  Heaven  knows  where  he  has  been  for  the  last  six 
months.  But  there  he  was  last  night,  lively  as  ever,  sitting 
upon  the  end  of  a  whiskey-barrel,  and  going  '  the  Black  Joke' 
at  race-horse  speed,  while  Fry  was  leading  off  with  the  fattest 
and  yellowest  sandlapper  of  a  woman  I  ever  saw.  Where  the 
women  came  from,  all  of  them,  I  can  not  guess ;  but  there  they 
were,  merry  as  monkeys,  if  not  quite  so  active,  sweating  away 
their  ill  humors,  in  a  motion  that  almost  overcame  me  with 
horror.  I  perspired  at  the  very  sight  of  their  fury." 

"  I  thought  Fry  too  severe  an  orderly  for  such  indulgences 
in  camp." 

"He  is  strict  enough  on  drill;  but,  as  he  says — 'what's  to 
be  dnue  7  Prill's  over ;  danger's  distant ;  we  must  keep  the 


392  THE    FOltAYEllS. 

fellows  in  a  good  humor  !  When  I  asked  him  where  the  wuinen 
came  from — he  answered,  pertly  enough,  '  Why,  captain,  we 
all  think  from  heaven,  since  they  make  us  so  happy  while  they 
stay  !'  Happy  in  a  sweat  and  stew  ;  for  I  fairly  felt  myself 
steamed  to  faintness  in  the  spectacle.  Faugh!  I  sweat  with 
the  remernhrance.  But  the  exercise  was  not  a  had  one  for  the 
troop.  Let  them  complain  of  heat  on  duty  if  they  dare!  I  did 
not  discourage  them,  but  sent  them  the  materials  for  a  bowl  of 
punch,  and  left  them  happier  than  ever.  Fry  tells  me,  this 
morning,  that  they  kept  it  up  all  night.  They  are,  of  course, 
lit  for  nothing  to-day." 

"Now,"  thought  Travis,  "this  is  all  a  lie  —  a  mere  invention 
—  meant  to  blind  me.  I  don't  believe  a,  word  of  it." 

But  he  expressed  himself  very  differently. 

"  Faith,  it  must  have  been  a  curious  sight.  Such  a  night  too 
Where  the  d — 1  could  these  women  have  come  from  1  Not  the 
village  ?" 

"  No  !  not  that  I  know.  They  looked  like  nobody  that  I 
had  ever  seen.  Yet  they  seemed  to  know  me.  But  foul  weather 
brings  out  very  strange  birds.  You  say  it's  twelve  ?" 

"Yes  !  it  was  just  twelve  when  I  came." 

"  Let  us  have  some  punch,  Travis.  Nothing  like  rum  punch 
for  hot  weather.  Come,  you  do  the  thing  better  than  I.  You 
have  the  knack  of  it.  Make  a  good  stoup  for  us  both.  I  would 
drink  anything  which  would  put  a  little  more  life  into  me.  I 
have  no  more  energy  in  such  weather  as  this,  than  a  snake  in 
December." 

Travis  made  the  punch,  and  drank  —  but  he  observed  that 
the  other  only  tasted  the  beverage,  for  which  he  had  expressed 
so  much  unctuous  appetite,  and  set  it  down  beside  him.  He 
took  snuff  in  preference,  and  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conver 
sation.  At  length,  Inglehardt  said  :  "  Well,  Travis,  when  am 
I  to  visit  Holly-Dale  ?  Shall  it  be  to-morrow  ?" 

"  As  you  please." 

"  You  have  broached  our  suit  to  the  fair  Bertha  ?" 

'<  Yes." 

•'  And  —  she  does  not  frown  ?" 

"  I  trust  that  Bertha  will  show  herself  submissive  to  her 
father's  wishes." 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE  —  BLOWS   AND   BONDS.          o93 

"  If  not  genial  to  mine  !  Well,  I  must  be  content.  Sht> 
knows  me  not.  She  will  tliink  better  of  me  with  better  ac 
quaintance,  and,  after  marriage.  I  make  no  question  that  love 
will  come  in  to  the  support  of  duty.  To-morrow  then,  Travis, 
I  may  hope  to  see  her.  She  will  then  receive  me.  Meanwhile, 
my  dear  good  father-in-law,  that  is  to  be,  make  the  way  as 
clear  as  possible.  Of  course,  you  have  suffered  her  to  under 
stand  the  necessity  of  this  union  ?" 

'  She  is  fully  informed,  Inglehardt,  of  my  wishes." 

"Ah  !  —  and  she  does  not  fly  out — does  not  wear  the  sullens; 
She  smiles,  I  hope." 

"  All  I  can  say  is,  Inglehardt,  that  the  dear  child  will  prove 
submissive  to  my  will.  I  can  not  promise  you  her  heart.  I  do 
not  deceive  you,  no  more  than  she  seeks  to  deceive  me,  that  she 
would  prefer  another.  But  enough,  if  I  repeat  that  she  will 
yield  herself  to  what  I  require." 

"  To-morrow  then  !  To-morrow!" — and,  with  the  slightest 
smile  upon  his  features,  Inglehardt  fed  his  nostrils  from  the 
snuff-box. 

Travis  rose  to  depart. 

"  What !  Whither  would  you  go,  and  at  this  hour  ?  not  to 
Holly-Dale  surely.  Why,  man,  you  will  drop  upon  the  road." 

"  No  !  I  think  I  shall  order  my  dinner  at  Baltezegar's  at 
three.  It  is  too  hot  for  riding.  Besides,  I  have  some  matters 
to  settle  at  my  office,  which  will  keep  me  to  that  hour.  It  will 
suffice  if  I  reach  Holly-Dale  by  dark." 

"  You  are  wise  !  A  hundred  guineas  should  not  tempt  me  to 
take  the  road  a-t  this  hour." 

And,  with  some  more  talk,  in  which  each  sought  to  mystify 
the  other,  they  separated. 

"  Cunning  scoundrel !"  muttered  Inglehardt,  as  the  other  left 
the  house  — "he  fancies  that  he  blinds  me.  But  I  shall  have 
eyes  on  him  at  every  turning." 

Travis,  meanwhile,  took  his  way  to  Baltezegar's. 

"  Jack,"  said  he,  "  let  me  have  a  dinner  here  at  three  o'clock 
—  dinner  for  two,  remember." 

That  he  had  given  this  order,  reached  Inglehardt  hi  twenty 
minutes  after. 

"  Dinner  for  two,  and  at  three  o'clock.     Who  can  the  other 

17* 


394  THE  FORAYEKS. 

be  ?  Can  he  be  serious  ?  His  game  may  be  a  deeper  one  than 
I  suspect.  At  all  events,  it  shall  not  change  my  plans.  He  is 
secure,  whether  he  goes  home,  or  stays  here.  This  day  shall 
unmask  his  batteries  as  well  as  mine.  The  scheme  shall  stand 
as  it  is.  Travis  may  dine  here,  yet  Sinclair,  not  the  less,  dino 
nt  Hollydale.  I  shall  have  him  there,  whether  Travis  stays  or 
goes.  Have  him !" 

And  the  heretofore  languid  speaker,  to  whom  the  weather 
had  been  so  oppressive  —  who  would  not  take  the  road  at  that 
hour  for  the  world,  proceeded  to  gird  himself  up  for  action. 
Having  dressed  himself  for  the  saddle,  he  stole  out  of  the  house, 
by  the  back-door,  into  the  yard,  and  made  his  way  to  the  stables. 
There  he  met  one  of  his  rangers,  as  if  awaiting  him. 

"  Have  my  orders  been  obeyed,  Elias  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  the  men  are  all  gone  with  Sergeant  Fry.  None 
remain,  sir,  but  myself  and  Witsell,  as  you  bade." 

"  Good  !  Has  my  horse  been  taken  into  the  swamp  opp  - 
site  ?" 

"  Witsell  has  him  there,  sir,  with  his  own  and  mine." 

"  Is  the  boat  ready?" 

"  Ready,  sir  —  hidden  among  the  bushes  above  the  bridge." 

"  Do  not  leave  this  place  then,  till  you  hear  from  me." 

Meanwhile,  Travis  chatted  with  Jack  Baltezegar  on  indif 
ferent  affairs,  or  such  as  seemed  to  be  so  to  the  honest  landlord. 

"  Inglehardt  has  picked  up  a  clever  troop,  he  tells  me." 

"  I  reckon  over  thirty  men,  and  pretty  clever  fellows  some 
of  'em." 

"They  must  have  had  rare  doings  at  the  camp  last  night- 
dancing  'till  daylight.  But  where  did  all  the  women  come 
from  ?  Are  the  girls  of  the  village  in  the  habit  of  dancing  in 
a  ranger's  camp,  all  night  ?" 

"  What !  our  girls  !  Never  a  one  of  'em.  It's  not  easy  to 
get  'em  there  even  in  broad  daylight,  and  when  they're  a  dril 
ling.  But  what  camp  are  you  speaking  of?" 

"  Inglehardt's." 

"  Where  is  it  1  He's  moved  his  troop  off  into  the  swamp 
more  than  two  days.  Except  Fry,  the  orderly,  'Lias  Barnett 
and  Tom  Witsell,  and,  perhaps,  a  small  scouting  party  that 
came  in  bv  day-peep  this  morning,  he's  got  nobody  here." 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE—  ^LOWS   AND    BONDS.          395 

"  Isn't  that  imprudent  —  now  that  Coulter's  about  ?" 

"  Well,  there's  no  saying  what's  imprudent,  or  what  is  not, 
with  Cap'n  Iiigleliardt,  he's  so  knowing.  But  it's  hard  to  catch 
him  napping,  and  if  Coulter  should  make  a  dash  at  the  village, 
I  reckon  'twould  he  through  amhush  that's  set  for  him.  It's 
hard  to  catch  such  an  old  weasel  asleep." 

Travis  picked  up  some  other  items,  all  .t  which  tended  to 
confirm  him  in  the  opinion  that  Inglehardt  was  subtly  working 
against  him,  and  that  the  sooner  he  should  take  his  departure 
the  better.  But  this  required  some  nicety  of  management. 
Repeating  his  directions  to  Baltczegar,  touching  the  dinner  at 
three,  he  jumped  on  his  horse,  and  rode  up  to  the  jail,  where 
there  were  some  Irish  prisoners  in  safe-keeping,  charged  with 
mutiny  and  strong  drink,  and  for  whom  he  had  been  required 
to  furnish  clothing.  He  saw  the  jailer,  and  spoke  with  him 
awhile,  then  rode  off,  rounded  the  jail,  and  got  into  the  cover 
of  the  woods  on  the  south,  whence  he  moved  round,  making  a 
complete  circuit,  mostly  under  cover,  of  fence,  house  and 
thicket,  till  he  found  himself  in  the  swamp  below  the  bridge. 
Hence  he  felt  his  way  up,  still  in  the  swamp  thicket,  till  the 
bridge  was  reached,  when,  looking  out  carefully  in  the  direction 
of  the  village,  and  the  coast  seeming  to  be  clear,  he  boldly 
emerged  from  his  shelter,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  dashed  up 
ward  in  a  canter,  which  soon  left  his  enemies  —  all  of  whom  he 
knew  —  in  the  rear. 

But  ten  minutes  after  he  disappeared  from  sight,  Richard 
Inglehardt,  in  the  uniform  of  his  troop,  sword  at  his  side  and 
pistols  in  his  holsters,  emerged  from  the  thicket  accompanied  by 
two  troopers. 

He  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  said  : — 

"  We  may  walk  our  horses  for  a  while,  men,  and  leave  our 
friend  to  make  use  of  all  his  advantages." 

And  they  took  the  way  upward  in  the  direction  of  Holly-Dale, 
though  the  trooperu  knew  not  whither  they  were  going,  or  what 
they  had  to  do.  Inglehardt  made|no  unnecessary  revelations  of 
his  purpose. 

Meanwhile  Travis  sped  on  without  interruption.  He  was, 
however,  too  old  a  stager  to  be  guilty  of  the  boy-folly  of  halloo 
ing  before  he  had  quite  cleared  the  bush.  He  knew  his  enemy, 


396  THE   PORAYEBS. 

and  knew  that  the  very  languor  of  Inglehardt  was  an  omen  oi 
ill  —  that  his  smile  was  a  danger  —  that  all  his  horrors  of  heat 
and  exertion  were  mere  affectations,  and  he  believed  frauds-- 
active  employment  had  somewhat  lessened  the  presentiments 
of  Travis,  hut  had  not  wholly  dissipated  them,  and  though  he 
rode  on  for  three  miles  without  seeing  a  human  being,  he  was 
yet  by  no  means  surprised  or  confounded  when,  at  that  distance 
from  the  village,  he  found  his  horse's  bridle  suddenly  seized  by 
a  sturdy  fellow,  who  leaped  out  of  the  copse,  at  a  short  turn  of 
the  road,  and  forced  the  steed  back  upon  his  haunches. 

"'Light,  cappin,"  said  the  voice  of  the  stranger — "we  wants 
you!" 

Travis  answered  with  a  bullet.  His  hand  was  firm,  his  blood 
prompt,  and  at  the  first  bound  of  the  assailant,  he  had  drawn  a 
pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  fired  full  at  the  fellow's  head. 

"  Giinini !"  cried  the  ruffian,  "  he's  cut  off  my  ear  !" 

At  the  same  instant,  and  before  Travis  could  draw  another 
pistol,  a  blow  from  behind,  with  a  heavy  bludgeon,  from  a  third 
hand,  tumbled  him  from  his  horse.  For  a  few  moments  he  lay 
insensible.  When  he  recovered,  he  found  himself  in  the  deepest 
thicket,  his  hands  and  feet  bound  firmly,  his  pockets  rifled  of 
all  his  papers,  and  two  men  whom  he  did  not  recognise  standing 
over  him.  Before  he  could  quite  recover  himself,  to  ask  the 
reason  of  the  outrage,  Inglehardt  and  his  two  followers  rode 
into  the  thicket.  The  eyes  of  the  loyalist  captain  and  1  ravis 
met.  Neither  spoke.  A  sweet  smile  was  upon  the  face  of  the 
former.  The  latter  felt  too  surely  the  impotence  of  his  anger 
to  allow  it  to  appear  in  his  features.  He  simply  met  the  gaze 
of  his  enemy  with  an  immovable  countenance. 

"Dinner  for  two  at  Baltezegar's,  Captain  Travis  —  why  are 
you  here  ?  But  your  companion  will  wait.  I  will  report  at 
Holly-Bale  your  engagements  for  the  day.  Should  I  meet 
Major  Willie  Sinclair,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  send  him  on  to 
you.  You  will  find  the  ride  back  a  warm  one.  Good  morning, 
Captain  Travis,  good  morning." 

Travis  could  only  look  at  his  enemy  the  vindictive-  hate 
which  he  felt.  How  he  longed  for  the  fabulous  power  of  the 
M>,("!usnn  head  that  he  might  look  his  bantcrer  into  stone.  The 
loyalist  captain  smiled  complacently  in  rop]}'  to  the  vonouuni* 


SMILES    AND   SUNSHINES  —  BLOWS   AND    BONDS.         397 

glance  of  his  captive.  Ere  he  rode  away,  he  called  Dick  of 
Tophet,  and  Branson,  the  Trailer,  aside,  and  said : — 

"  If  you  have  time  for  it,  before  the  men  can  wind  their  way 
up,  then  see  that  Captain  Travis  is  carried  down  to  Green  Bay 
thicket,  and  hidden  away  there  till  our  return.  That  is  the 
place  of  rendezvous,  remember.  But,  if  time  should  not  serve, 
leave  him  here,  tied  securely  and  in  cover.  You  need  not  be 
careful  to  turn  his  eyes  up  to  the  sun.  Let  him  lie  at  ease. 
You  are  not  to  forget  the  more  important  commission  which  I 
have  given  you.  You  are  not  to  engage  in  any  occupation  but 
the  one.  While  I  see  to  the  securing  of  Sinclair,  you  contrive 
to  carry  oft*  the  girl.  That  is  the  one  duty  which  I  assign  you. 
Neglect  it  for  no  other  And  see  that  you  do  it  tenderly. 
Harm  her,  by  word  or  act,  and  you  hang  for  it !  Beware  too 
how  your  fingers  incline  to  plunder.  You  will  do  nothing  of 
that  sort.  I  will  see  that  your  reward  hereafter  shall  compen 
sate  your  forbearance,  which  I  well  know  will  be  the  most 
painful  trial  of  your  virtues." 

"  Vartues  don't  bother  us  much,  cappin,"  answered  Dick  with 
a  grin. 

"  See  that  your  vices  are  not  more  troublesome.  Beware, 
how  you  offend  me  now.  Your  own  safety  depends  on  your 
good  behavior  to-day." 

"  Good  behavior,  cappin !  that's  to-say,  ef  we  does  jest 
what  you  wants  us  to  do." 

"  Certainly  !  your  good  behavior  lies  only  in  your  obedience 
to  orders." 

"  We're  to  catch  and  carry  off  the  gal,  while  you're  busy 
with  the  major  " 

"  Yes,  and  to  trouble  yourself  with  nothing  else  —  to  be  di- 
rerted  by  nothing  from  the  one  duty.  Treat  her  respectfully, 
use  no  ill  language  in  her  ears;  and,  beyond  the  degree  of  vio 
lence  necessary  for  carrying  her  off  safely,  see  that  you  do  not 
harm  her.  Remember  that !  But  see  that  she  does  not  escape 
you  !  Your  life  upon  it,  my  good  fellows ;  and  if  you  succeed, 
look  to  me  for  ample  rewards." 

With  these  words  he  rode  away,  moving  still  upward,  and 
keeping  close  in  the  cover  of  the  woods,  on  a  line  equi-distant 
from  the  high-road  and  'he  river.  The  two  ruffians  remained 


398  THE'  FORA YERS. 

for  a  wliilo.  after  lie  was  gone,  but  without  offering  to  carry 
Travis  down  to  the  Green  Bay  thicket,  which  had  been  do 
clared  the  place  of  rendezvous.  They  contented  themselves 
with  seeing  that  he  was  securely  roped,  and  with  searching  his 
pockets  —  even  ripping  up  his  saddle,  in  their  thirst  for  plunder, 
and  possessing  themselves  of  the  money  he  had  about  him,  not 
overlooking  his  watch,  knife,  and  other  trifles.  All  these  were 
safely  disposed  of  and  out  of  sight.  His  papers  were  opened, 
and  scattered  about  the  woods.  Dick  of  Tophet  found  himself 
a  gainer  by  a  forced  swap  of  horses  with  his  captive,  coolly  ap 
propriating  that  of  Travis,  and  fastening  the  poor  hackney  of 
Pete  Blodgit  in  its  place,  to  a  neighboring  tree. 

"  Kin  we  carry  him  down,  Dick,  to  the  bay  ?"  demanded  the 
Trailer. 

"  Hain't  got  the  time.  All  the  time  we've  got,  I  wants  you 
to  put  upon  my  ear.  The  bloody  bullet  of  this  varmint  lies 
gi'n  me  such  a  mark  as  will  last  for  ever." 

The  Trailer  proceeded  to  examine  the  injury,  and  employ 
some  rude  surgery  upon  it;  Travis  being  permitted  to  see  the 
process  where  he  lay  ;  the  fierce  glance  of  Dick  of  Tophet  every 
now  and  then,  at  every  twinge  of  the  wound  under  Branson's 
fingers,  speaking  daggers  to  the  captive,  which  the  occasional 
comments  of  the  Trailer  were  not  calculated  to  disarm. 

"  'Twas  a  mighty  close  graze,  Dick,"  quoth  the  Trailer,  to 
his  hurt  comrade,  "  as  good  a  hole  as  ever  a  sharp  knife  worked 
in  a  sow's  ear !  And  as  you  say,  it's  marked  you  for  life ! 
You'll  have  to  put  a  gould  ring  in  it." 

"  I'll  wring  his  bloody  neck  for  him,  afore  he  gits  out  of  the 
•vood ;  but  make  haste  or  we'll  be  too  late  for  the  scrimmage." 

"  Kin  we  leave  him  whar  he  is  ?" 

"Why  not?  He  kaint  stir  a  peg,  and  if  he  should  whoop 
who's  to  hear  him  1  We'll  find  him  hyar,  I  reckon,  safe  enough, 
when  we  gits  back.  Look  you,  you  mischievous,  bloody,  pistol- 
shooting  d  —  d  old  skunk  of  a  rebel,  do  you  see  that  you  lies 
close,  and  without  kicking.  I'm  a  guine  up  now  to  captivate 
your  wife  and  da'ghter,  and  all  the  combustibles  of  your  plan 
tation ;  and  before  I'm  done  with  them  and  you,  I'll  find  satis 
faction  enough  to  stop  up  this  bloody  hole  that  you've  made 
hyar  etarnally  in  my  ear.  Oh!  I'll  never  forgit  you  for  it. 


SMILES   AND   SUNSHINE  —  BLOWS    AND    BONDS.  39? 

as  long  as  I  can  bite  or  kick,  or  as  long  as  you've  g(  t  the 
flesh  for  feeling  a  sharp  wiper's  tooth  a-mee+ing  in  you !  I'll 
hev  it  out  of  you,  in  every  way,  you  see.  ^yid  I'll  make  you 
feel  it  first  through  wife  and  da'ghter.  And  you  may  think 
about  what's  a-going  on  at  home,  with  my  help,  and  others, 
while  you're  hyar,  tied  neck  and  heels,  and  without  the  arms 
to  keep  off  the  meanest  varmints  in  the  woods." 

We  abridge  the  blackguardism  and  the  denunciations  of  the 
ruffian,  who  soon  after  rode  away  with  his  companion,  leaving 
Travis  to  utter  solitude,  fast-fettered,  with  scarcely  freedom  of 
limb  enough  to  avert  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  sun,  without 
hope  of  defence,  help,  or  extrication.  What  were  his  reflec 
tions  ?  Not  altogether  selfish.  He  was  humbled,  hopeless,  in 
pain,  in  danger,  but, if  he  thought  of  his  own  situation,  it  was  to 
lament  his  incapacity  to  strike  for  the  defence  of  his  wife  and 
daughter.  The  shocking  speech  of  the  ruffian  had  filled  his  soul 
svith  terrors  — had  taught  him  what  to  fear.  The  hot  scalding 
tears  rolled  from  his  eyes,  with  the  sense  of  his  dreary  impotence. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  the  wretched  man — "what  is  to 
become  of  Bertha  — my  child  — my  child  — in  the  power  of  this 
infernal  tyrant !  And  Sinclair  too,  and  the  groat  man  whom  I 
would  bring  into  this  snare  !  But  I  thought  I  had  all  sure.  I 
took  every  precaution.  Oh  !  that  I  were  free,  if  it  were  only 
to  strike  one  blow  at  the  head  of  that  arch-villain  !" 

But  why  listen  to  his  unavailing  regrets  ?  Our  anxieties  re 
quire  that  we  should  fly  to  Holly-Dale,  even  as  his  thoughts  fly 
thither,  and  witness  for  ourselves  those  events  which,  with  to 
much  horror,  he  anticipat  38. 


400  THE   FORAYERS. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

HOW  THE  GAME  MAY  BE  SNARED  AT  THE  COST  OF  THE  HUNTER. 

A  LITTLE  before  three  o'clock,  Major  Sinclair  crossed  the 
river  in  the  dug-out,  having  with  him  a  single  companion. 
Having  secured  the  boat  under  the  usual  cover,  the  shady 
willows  that  overhung  the  'stream  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp 
above  the  headland  of  Holly-Dale,  the  two  took  their  course 
through  the  thickets  until  they  drew  near  the  dwelling.  This 
they  soon  approached  and  entered  from  the  rear,  having  watch 
ed  their  moment  when  the  coast  seemed  quite  clear,  and  kept 
themselves  under  cover  of  the  foliage  as  long  as  it  sufficed  for 
concealment.  They  entered  the  hall  which  opened  from  the 
passage-way,  and  found  themselves  alone.  It  was  the  dining- 
room  also,  and  the  table  was  spread,  but  no  person  of  the  family 
was  present.  The  ladies  were  in  the  chamber  of  Mrs.  Travi.s, 
an  apartment  opposite  the  hall,  and  opening  in  like  manner 
from  the  passage. 

Leaving  his  companion  in  the  hall,  Sinclair  stepped  into  the 
passage,  and  had  hardly  done  so  when  he  was  met  by  Bevtlm. 
The  countenance  of  the  damsel  was  full  of  anxiety. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  father,  Willie  ?" 

"  No !  Is  he  not  here  ?  we  are  but  just  landed  from  the 
river.  He  was  to  meet  us  here  at  three.  It  is  not  quite  the 
hour." 

"  He  is  not  here,"  answered  Bertha,  striving  to  conceal  her 
uneasiness ;  "  but  I  hope  he  will  be  back  in  season.  He  had  to 
go  down  to  Orangeburg  this  morning  —  and  —  and  —  he  seemed 
very  much  troubled  —  very  uneasy.  Oh  !  if  anything  has  hap 
pened  to  him/' 

"Don't  be  alarmed.     What  should  happen  to  him?" 

''  i  don't  know.     But.  he  himself  was  apprehensive,  and  gave 


HOW  THE  GAME  WAS  SNARED.  401 

me  some  commissions  to  you,  some  papers — here  they  are  — 
in  the  event  of  anything  happening  to  prevent  his  presence." 

"Ah  !  the  papers  ! — a  moment,  dear  Bertha,"  as  he  took  the 
papers  and  read  the  letter  to  himself. 

'•  Now  excuse  me  for  a  moment.  These  papers  are  for  an 
other,  and  the  sooner  he  has  them,  and  examines  them,  the 
better.  These  will  set  everything  right  —  set  your  father  fairly 
before  the  country,  and  make  his  future  course  free.  One  mo 
ment,  dear." 

"  Come  back  to  me.  Mother  wants  to  see  and  speak  with  you 
in  her  chamber." 

Sinclair  hurried  into  the  hall,  and,  with  a  few  words,  delivered 
the  papers  into  the  hands  of  his  companion.  That  person  was 
soon  seated  and  busied  in  their  examination.  Meanwhile,  Sin 
clair  returned  to  Bertha,  and  accompanied  her  to  the  chamber 
where  Mrs.  Travis  awaited  them. 

He  found  that  good  lady  calm  but  very  serious. 

"  Sinclair,"  said  she,  "'I  fear  something  has  happened  to 
Captain  Travis." 

"  I  hope  not.     Why  should  you  fear  ?" 

"  He  has  failed  to  be  back  at  the  hour  he  appointed.  I  know 
that  he  was  anxious  to  be  here.  He  had  apprehensions,  too, 
and  Inglehardt  is  as  treacherous  as  a  friend  as  he  is  venomous 
as  a  foe." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  any  occasion  for  alarm.  Ingle 
hardt  has  every  reason  to  keep  on  terms  with  your  husband." 

"Yes,  so  long  as  my  husband  will  keep  on  terms  with  him. 
But  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  Mr.  Travis  had  determined 
to  break  with  him." 

"  But  how  should  Inglehardt  know  that  ?" 

"  It  is  possible.  He  is  all  cunning.  Besides,  he  has  his  spies 
everywhere,  and  Mr.  Travis  mentioned  that  he  had  certainly 
made  one  discovery  —  of  which  you  know  —  which  would  cer 
tainly  make  him  suspicious." 

"  That  is  true !  But  unless  he  has  discovered  much  more, 
the  only  present  result  of  that  discovery  must  be  to  make  him 
more  watchful." 

"  And,  no  doubt,  he  has  been  so ;  and  to  what  other  discov 
eries  this  watch  may  have  conducted  h'oi  is  the  question.  It 


402  THE   FORAYERS.      . 

certainly  looks  suspicious,  that,  anxious  as  Mr.  Travis  was  to 
get  back  in  time  to  meet  yourself  and  friend,  and  resolving  to 
do  so,  he  should  fail  just  at  this  juncture,  when  his  enemy  is 
most  suspicious,  most  watchful,  and  has  most  reason  to  be  so. 
Mr.  Travis  is  usually  punctual  to  his  word." 

"And  yet,  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis,  a  thousand  motives,  nay 
necessities,  not  involving  danger  so  much  as  duty  and  a  proper 
caution,  may  have  delayed  him.  He  had  to  put  away  and  to 
destroy  his  papers,  had  to  settle  many  interests,  and  small 
details  before  leaving  Orangeburg  —  had  to  secure  property  — 
for,  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  that  our  present  relations  involved 
his  withdrawal  from  all  affinities  with  the  British.  The  very 
fact  that  he  left  these  papers  with  Bertha,  to  be  delivered  to 
me  in  the  event  of  his  not  coming,  showed  that  he  himself  an 
ticipated  some  unavoidable  delay,  as  a  probability." 

"  Ah !  Sinclair,  he  anticipated  something  more.  He  was 
very  much  depressed,  and  his  mind  labored  with  some  gloomy 
presentiments." 

"  And  well  he  might  entertain  some  forebodings.  His  rela 
tions  naturally  involve  the  idea  of  embarrassment  and  danger. 
But  I  see  not — 

Here  Bertha  interposed : — 

"Willie,  I  heard  a  horse — horses — I'm  sure.  Had  you  not 
better  go,  you  and  your  friend,  while  you  have  time  ?  Should 
anything  have  happened  to  my  father,  there's  danger  to  you." 

"  She  is  right,  Willie.  Go  !  You  have  the  papers  i  You 
will  see  that  justice  is  done  to  my  husband's  object." 

"  If  Mr.  Travis  has  fallen  into  Inglehardt's  clutches,  it  is  too 
late  to  steal  away,"  said  Sinclair.  "  If  he  has  arrested  Mr. 
Travis,  be  sure  that  he  has  environed  Holly-Dale  with  his 
rangers." 

"Heavens!  Willie,  and  you  speak  so  coolly!"  exclaimed 
Bertha. 

"  Fear  nothing !  I  have  striven  to  prepare  for  this  con 
tingency,  and  believe  that  I  am  ready.  Henry  is  no  doubt  on 
his  way,  bringing  down  the  troop  of  St.  Julien,  and  I  have 
despatched  a  trusty  messenger  to  Coulter  to  bring  up  his  troop 
also.  They  have  full  instructions  in  regard  to  every  step  that 
Is  to  be  taken.  If  Inglchardt  is  really  about  us,  with  hii 


HOW    THE    GAME    WAS    SNARED.  403 

rangers,  he  has  got  himself  into  a  snare.  From  the  moment 
when  I  conceived  the  possibility  of  his  seeking  me  here,  I 
resolved  that  he  shouL.  find  me,  and  find  me  prepared  for  him. 
I  have  endeavored  po  to  provide  as  to  crush  him  at  a  blow. 
Let  St.  Juli'en  and  Coulter  reach  us  in  season,  and  we  have  the 
scoundrel  in  his  own  meshes.  We  need  but  half  an  hour  now." 

"  Ah  !" — there  were  steps  without — "  you  will  not  be  allowed 
that  half  hour.  There  i«  certainly  a  tramp  of  horses,  and  — 
the  door  opens." 

So  it  did  —  the  door  of  the  passage  —  then  a  footstep  was 
heard,  a  light  deliberate  footstep,  the  tread  measured  —  and 
the  person  entering  was  heard  to  pass  into  the  hall. 

Sinclair,  with  moccasined  feet,  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  win- 
low  which  looked  out  upc  n  the  court  fronting  the  west.  He 
came  back  with  a  slight  smile  upon  his  lip.i,  and  in  a  whisper  — 

"  You  are  right.  There  are  troopers  on  the  edge  of  the  wood. 
Can  you  find  your  way  to  the  upper  story,  Bertha,  without 
being  heard  from  the  hall  ?" 

"  Yes  !  I  think  so." 

"  Go,  then,  and  look  up  the  northwest  avenue,  note  the  great 
red  oak  that  stands  out  in  the  centre  of  it,  and  if  you  discover 
a-  white  handkerchief,  or  anything  white  gleaming  from  the 
boughs,  sing  cheerily  some  verse  of  one  of  your  little  musical 
ballads,  so  that  I  shall  hear." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  whisper.  Bertha  stole  out  into  the 
passage  and  up  the  stairway,  without  waking  a  single  echo. 

Voices  were  heard  in  the  hall.  Sinclair  stole  to  the  door  and 
listened.  He  returned  in  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  think,  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis,  that  you  can  follow 
successfully  the  example  of  Bertha,  and  steal  up-stairs  without 
being  heard  ?" 

Alas !  good  Mrs.  Travis  was  a  lady  of  dimensions  and  bulk. 
She  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  bide  your  time,  and  on  the  first  sound  of 
struggle  or  confusion,  make  your  way  up-stairs  to  Bertha,  and 
fasten  yourselves  in.  Leave  this  fellow  to  me." 

"  Who  is  it,  Willie  T 

"  Inglehardt  himself." 

"  Ah  !  and  you  take  it  so  easily." 


404  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Yes  !    I  liope  to  take  him  easily." 

And  Sinclair  again  stole  to  the  door,  stole  into  the  passage 
and  listened.  The  old  lady  could  hear  the  voices  from  the  hall, 
which  were  earnest  but  not  loud.  In  a  moment,  Sinclair  was 
back,  and  without  a  word,  he  snatched  up  a  light  coverlet 
from  the  bed,  and  again  disappeared  from  the  apartment.  Mrs. 
Travis  wondered  what  he  should  want  with  such  an  agent 
dealing  with  such  an  enemy,  and  while  she  wonders,  and  while 
the  event  is  doubtful,  let  us  retrace  our  steps  a  moment  to  some 
of  the  antecedents  of  the  affair. 

Not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  this,  Inglehardt,  accom 
panied  by  a  single  trooper,  Fry,  his  orderly,  might  have  been 
seen  in  a  little  thicket  crouching  behind  the  dairy.  Hither  his 
whistle  had  summoned  a  young  mulatto,  a  boy  of  eighteen,  to 
his  presence.  This  fellow,  a  servant  of  Travis,  had  been  long 
in  the  pay  of  Inglehardt. 

"  Well,  Julius,  has  he  come  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he's  in  the  hall  now,  a-reading  papers." 

"  When  did  he  come  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir ;  I  was  busy  cleaning  knife  behind  the 
kitchen,  and  old  Molly,  the  cook,  sir — you  know  old  Molly  — 
she's  mighty  hard  'pon  me — " 

"  No  matter  about  old  Molly." 

"  Well,  sir,  she  was  a-moving  about,  and  keeping  me  at  the 
knives,  sir,  and  I  never  see  when  the  major  come.  But  when 
I  gone  up-stairs  with  the  knife-box,  to  put  'em  on  the  table  in 
the  piazza,  I  cotch  a  sight  of  'em  in  the  hall,  sir,  a-setting  at 
the  table  with  papers,  a-reading.  The  room  was  dark,  the 
winders  most  shut  in,  'cause  of  the  hot  weather." 

"  Well,  well !  he  is  there  ?" 

"  Safe !" 

"Nobody  else  —  no  troopers?" 

"  Never  see  the  huff  [hoof]  of  one,  sir,  'cept  what  you  fotch." 

"  You  hear,  Fry.  Now,  work  round  the  house  with  the  troop, 
and  push  in  when  you  hear  my  bugle,  but  not  a  moment  before.' 

"  Where  are  you  going,  sir  ?" 

"  To  the  house." 

"What  if  he  makes  fight?     Sinclair  is  a  powerful,  strong 


HOW    THE   GAME    WAS  SNARED.  40£ 

The  other  touched  the  pistols  in  his  belt. 

"I  shall  be  able  to  manage  him  with  these — at  all  events, 
keep  him  at  a  distance  with  them  till  you  can  answer  my 
bugle." 

"  Very  well,  sir  —  as  you  please.  But  we  had  better  mak« 
short  work  of  it,  sir  —  at  a  dash." 

"  No !  I  have  another  object.  Besides,  we  have  him  sure. 
With  thirty  troopers  upon  him,  he  can  neither  fight  nor  fly  with 
any  hope  of  safety.  Away,  now,  and  be  in  readiness." 

The  orderly  disappeared  behind  the  bushes. 

"Julius,  was  your  young  mistress  with  him?" 

"  Not  when  I  look,  sir.  She  been  up-stairs  in  he  room  I 
reckon.  But  I  'spec'  [expect]  she's  down  with  'em  now,  onless 
he  gone  up  to  her." 

"  Why,  scoundrel,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  goes  up  to 
her  chamber  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  sir;  but  they's  mighty  loving,  when  they  gits 
cogether,"  and  the  mulatto  grinned  his  own  vicious  nature  as  he 
spoke.  Inglehardt  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  disgust. 

"  Mighty  loving,  are  they  ?" 

"  Oh  !  there's  no  saying  how  sweet  they  is  to  one  another." 

"  We  shall  dash  the  sweet  with  bitter.  Go,  now,  and  let  me 
.see  you  where  I  told  you,  and  when." 

The  boy  disappeared.  Inglehardt  lingered,  as  if  in  thought, 
though  looking  around  him  as  if  in  expectation  also.  Sudden 
ly  the  bushes  parted  behind  him,  and  the  grim,  disfigured  vis 
age  of  Dick  of  Tophet  showed  itself. 

"  Ah !  you  are  there  1  Well,  see  that  you  do  your  work 
effectually ;  and,  hark  you,  Joel  Andrews,  no  trespassing  of 
any  sort." 

The  other  grinned  only  in  reply.  Inglehardt  found  it  neces 
sary  to  rebuke  the  grin  with  a  stern  look  and  speech. 

"  Hark  you,  Dick ;  —  closer — here  !" 

The  fellow  drew  nigh.  Inglehardt,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  him, 
said,  in  the  lowest  and  sweetest  tones : — 

"  If  you  disobey  the  slightest  of  my  injunctions,  Joel  An 
drews,  you  shall  hang  for  it.  Do  you  hear  ?  Look  me  in  the 
face,  and  comprehend,  if  you  can,  by  what  you  see,  that  I  have 
sworn  it!' 


406  THE    FORAYEBS. 

"  Oil !  cappin,  what's  the  use  of  being  oueasy  1  Don't  I 
know  what  to  do  1  Jest  you  fix  the  major,  and  I'll  save  the 
gal,  and  be  as  kearful  as  her  own  mammy.  I'll  wrap  up  my 
paws  in  a  silk  '  Ingy,'  whenever  I  lays  hands  on  her." 

Inglehardt  did  not  exactly  relish  the  tone  of  his  subordinate ; 
but  as  for  subduing  such  a  ruffian  to  sober  paces,  whether  of 
soldiership  or  humanity,  he  well  knew  that  the  hope  was  out 
of  the  question.  He  could  only  renew  his  injunctions  as  ear 
nestly  as  possible,  and  in  those  sweet  equable  tones  which  all 
who  knew  him  well  understood,  were  significant  of  his  sternest 
moods,  and  leave  the  event  to  the  Fates.  They  were  hurry 
ing  him  onward.  He  had  no  more  time  to  lose. 

Waving  his  hand  expressively  to  Dick  of  Tophet,  and  the 
Trailer,  who  hung  back  in  the  bushes,  his  head  just  visible 
above  them,  Inglehardt  immediately  stole  away  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  dwelling,  the  approach  to  which  prompted  his  re 
flections  to  return  to  a  channel  which  had  been  opened  by  the 
salacious  suggestions  of  the  mulatto.  The  voice  of  Inglehardt 
was  half  audible  as  he  murmured,  going  forward  somewhat 
quickly  : — 

"  I  shall  surprise  him  in  her  arms,  no  doubt — lipping  it  sweet 
ly —  turtle-doves  of  Holly-Dale  —  little  dreaming  of  what  awaits 
them  !  Ha !  well,  it  has  been  long  delayed,  but  I  shall  enjoy 
my  triumph  now.  Him  naught  shall  save  !  and  her  father's 
life  hangs  on  her  compliance  !  Proud  girl,  I  shall  give  you  this 
day  a  lesson  —  teach  you  how  to  scorn  the  pretensions  of  Rich 
ard  Inglehardt!" 

It  was  his  footstep  that  Bertha  heard  in  the  piazza,  his  that 
entered  the  passage  —  the  hall !  It  was  his  voice  that  reached 
the  ears  of  the  party  assembled  in  the  chambers  of  Mr.  Travis. 
We  see  what  were  his  expectations,  when  he  penetrated  the 
dwelling — what  and  whom  he  expected  to  discover  in  the  hall. 
He  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  a  stranger — not  the  rival 
whom  he  sought. 

The  stranger  sat  alone,  poring  over  a  pile  of  written  papers 
Inglehardt  did  not  immediately  distinguish  who  he  was.  Be 
held  at  some  distance — for  the  stranger  was  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  long  dining-table  —  his  features  and  person  were 
not  clearly  discernible  in  the  doubtful  light  of  the  half-darkened 


HOW   THE   GAME   WAS  SNARED.  107 

apartment;  but  a  single  glance  sufficed  to  show  that  he  was 
not  the  person  whom  the  intruder  sought.  He  paused  for  a 
moment,  apparently  at  a  loss.  His  own  presence  did  not  seem 
to  be  suspected  by  the  stranger,  who  appeared  wholly  absorbed 
by  his  papers.  He  sat  calm  and  grave,  noting,  with  a  pencil, 
certain  points  in  the  manuscripts  before  him  —  all  of  which 
were  now"  emptied  out  of  the  case  which  had  contained  them, 
when  left  by  Travis;  —  with  certain  additions  from  the  pock 
ets  of  their  present  possessor,  they  made  quite  a  pile  upon  the 
table. 

The  stranger  was  of  noble  appearance  —  tall  of  person,  well 
formed,  and  of  medium  fullness  and  proportions,  neither  stout 
nor  slender.  His  head  was  broad  and  lofty,  cheeks  firm,  chin 
full,  the  jaws  marked  by  breadth  and  significant  of  power.  His 
eyes  were  large  and  dark,  eager  and  searching.  His  mouth, 
well-defined,  was  habitually  rigid  of  compression,  giving  an  idea 
of  decision,  promptness,  and  great  resolution; — tempered,  how 
ever,  by  the  frankness  and  ingenuousness  of  an  ardent  tempera 
ment,  and  a  genius  at  once  magnanimous  and  ambitious.  His 
hair,  combed  back,  powdered,  and  tied  behind,  in  the  absurd 
style  common  to  the  gentry  of  that  period,  contributed  to  the 
full  development  of  his  features,  and,  perhaps,  somewhat  tended 
to  increase  the  general  expression  of  sternness,  almost  of  severi 
ty,  which  was  the  one  most  natural  to  his  aspect.  He  was 
dressed  in  black,  without  uniform  or  ornament,  in  the  fashiou 
of  the  professional  people  of  the  time,  with  ruffles  at  wrist  and 
bosom,  and  a  rapier  at  his  side.  This  weapon,  however,  as  he 
sat  at  the  table,  was  not  perceptible  to  the  intruder,  who  had 
every  opportunity  for  examining  him.  The  stranger  was  too 
much  absorbed  to  note  his  presence,  even  to  hear  his  footstep. 
His  mind  was  full,  his  imagination  busy,  his  brow  clouded  with 
thought, 

After  surveying  him  awhile  in  silence,  the  eye  of  Inglehard* 
gradually  becoming  reconciled  to  the  imperfect  light,  he  smiled 
with  a  grim  satisfaction.  He  had  been  disappointed,  seeking 
for  his  rival,  to  find  a  stranger,  but  that  stranger  was  no  com 
mon  prey.  Could  he  succeed  in  capturing  him,  his  fortune  was 
made.  The  British  commandant  could  deny  him  nothing 
And  was  he  not  in  his  hands? 


408  THE  FORAYERS. 

Inglehardt  advanced.     The  stranger  looked  up. 

"  Ha !  —  well !  who  are  you,  sir  ?" 

The  loyalist  captain  did  not  exactly  answer  the  question,  ai 
he  replied : — 

"I  know  you,  sir — you  are  John  Rutledge,  the  rebel-gov 
ernor  of  this  colony  !  Sir,  you  are  my  prisoner  !" 

Rutledge  laughed. 

"  Ha !  indeed  !  my  good  sir,  whoever  you  arc,  you  are  a 
blockhead.  You  neither  know  me  —  nor  yourself.  If  you 
knew  either  of  us,  sir,  you  would  know  that  7  am  not  to  be 
made  prisoner  by  you  !" 

Inglehardt's  cheek  flushed.  He  could  feel  the  sentiment  of 
scorn.  He,  the  son  of  the  overseer  and  grazier,  felt  the  sting 
of  the  sarcasm  from  the  born  gentleman.  But  Inglehardt  was 
of  wonderfully  well-balanced  temper.  A  sting  never  disquieted 
him,  or  deranged  his  purposes,  however  much  he  might  feel  it. 

"  Your  politeness,  sir,  will  hardly  suffice  for  your  safety.  I 
am  satisfied  that  you  are  the  rebel  Governor,  Rutledge,  and  I 
have  the  honor  to  be  Richard  Inglehardt,  a  poor  captain  of 
loyal  rangers.  My  duty  to  arrest  you  is  fortunately  seconded 
by  my  power.  I  do  not  wish  to  sjied  your  blood.  Will  you 
yield  quietly,  sir,  where  you  can  not  resist  with  safety  ?" 

Rutledge  rose,  and  with  one  hand  proceeded  to  gather  up  his 
papers,  his  eye  still  fixed  on  that  of  the  loyalist  captain.  The 
other  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket. 

"Yield!  you  say?     Yield!" 

'•  Ay,  sir,  it  is  your  only  hope  of  safety.  A  single  blast  of 
this  bugle  fills  the  house  with  my  rangers.  They  are  even 
now  collected  in  the  court." 

"  Yield !  why,  my  good  fellow,  do  you  not  see  that,  as*  the 
rebel  governor  of  this  state,  to  yield  to  you  is  impossible ! 
Were  the  whole  army  of  Rawdon  at  hand  I  could  not  yield  ! 
Don't  talk  to  me  of  yielding.  John  Rutledge  a  prisoner?  no, 
no  !  Fall  on,  if  it  must  be  so  !  The  gown  against  the  sword 
for  once.  Cedant  armtf  toga  !  I  take  my  auguries  from  the 
poet.  He  shall  be  nates  for  me  in  the  present  juncture." 

"Your  life  shall  be  safe,  sir,"  .said  Inglehardt,  "but  resist 
ance  is  impossible.  Once  more,  I  warn  you.  Yield,  sir,  and 
\ie  assured  of  good  treatment." 


HOW   THE   GAME   WAS   SNARED.  409 

"You  have  your  answer  !"  said  Rutledge,  cocking  his  pistol, 
and  keeping  his  eye  steadily  upon  him. 

"  Your  blood  be  upon  your  own  head  !"  answered  Inglehardt, 
raising  the  bugle  to  his  lips.  But,  before  he  could  wind  it, 
Sinclair  had  thrown  the  coverlet,  taken  from  Mrs.  Travis's  bed, 
over  the  head  of  the  loyalist,  enveloping  head  and  shoulders 
completely;  and  so  suddenly  and  closely  was  it  drawn,  as  to 
prevent  the  shout  with  which  he  would  have  brought  his 
troopers  into  the  house.  The  next  moment,  spite  of  all  his 
struggles,  he  was  stretched  out  upon  the  floor,  his  head  still 
muffled. 

"  A  cord,  Mrs.  Travis,"  cried  Sinclair  to  the  lady  who  made 
her  appearance  at  the  door  the  next  moment,  and  readily  pro 
cured  and  provided  the  required  article.  With  knee  upon  the 
breast  of  the  loyalist,  Sinclair  slipped  a  knot  about  his  arms 
and  feet,  which  put  him  completely  hors-de-comlat,  then  lifting 
him  up,  as  if  he  were  an  infant,  he  bore  him  into  the  passage, 
and  thence  down  the  inner  steps  into  the  basement,  where  he 
laid  him  out  gently  upon  the  floor 

Never  was  captive  so.  easily  overcome  —  so  simply,  so  sud 
denly,  and  so  unexpectedly  to  himself.  The  process  was  the 
only  one  The  muffling  of  the  head  was  the  only  means  of 
security.  Could  he  have  wound  his  bugle,  or  shouted,  his 
troopers  would  have  rushed  into  the  house  instantly,  and  a  few 
moments  only  would  have  been  required  for  the  work  of  de 
struction.  An  ordinary  enemy,  obeying  an  impulse,  would 
have  knocked  the  loyalist  down,  or  tried  to  do  so;  the  ready 
wit  of  Sinclair  found  it  better  to  roll  him  up.  This  was  most 
effectually  done,  and  the  stifled  cries  of  Inglehardt,  with  all  his 
efforts,  could  not  have  been  audible  without  the  apartment. 

Scarcely  had  our  major  of  dragoons  succeeded  in  this  opera 
tion,  and  in  conveying  his  captive  to  the  basement,  when  he 
heard  the  cheering  voice  of  Bertha  Travis,  above-stairs,  war 
bling  snatches  of  a  popular  song.  He  did  not  wait  for  more, 
but,  darting  upward  to  the  dining-room,  he  found  Rutledge  with 
pistols  ready,  his  papers  put  away  in  his  bosom,  and  his  rapier 
drawn. 

"  Up-stairs  now,  governor,  up-stairs  if  you  please,  with  Mrs. 
Travis,  while  1  secure  these  doors  as  quietly  as  possible.  We 

IS 


410  THE   FORAYERS. 

need  but  twenty  minutes  of  respite,  and  must  peril  nothing 
from  stray  shot  or  sudden  stroke.  We  shall  gather  up  all  these 
rascals  with  a  little  patience." 

Such  were  Sinclair's  words — commands. 

Rutledge  tendered  his  hand  to  the  lady,  in  the  style  of  one 
of  the  courtiers  of  that  day,  and  the  two  disappeared  up-stairs. 
Sinclair  at  once  threw  the  bars  into  the  staples,  which  secured 
the  entrances  to  the  house,  front  and  rear ;  then,  as  the  enemy 
might  enter  the  rooms  at  the  windows  from  the  piazzas,  he 
locked  the  two  doors,  opposite  each  other,  which  opened  into  the 
passage,  and  hurried  up-stairs  also.  Here,  gliding  to  one  of 
the  windows  he  looked  out  into  the  court,  taking  care  not  to 
expose  himself. 

"  Ay,  there  they  are,  awaiting  the  bugle  blast  of  their  cap 
tain  !  Well,  they  shall  now  have  mine ;"  and  with  the  words, 
our  major  of  dragoons  poured  out  a  lively  tira-la  tira-la,  thrice 
from  his  bugle.  There  was  then  a  rush  below  to  enter ;  and, 
failing  to  get  in  the  door,  some  of  the  troopers  were  soon  heard 
clambering  in  at  the  windows. 

"  It  will  cost  them  a  few  minutes,"  quoth  Sinclair,  "  to  break 
down  the  inner  door,  and  by  that  time  they  will  have  to  turn 
about  for  other  customers.  Ha  !  do  you  hear  that  ?" 

It  was  the  distant  blast  of  another  bugle. 

"  In  five  minutes,  St.  Julien  will  be  here !  But  they  may 
$ive  us  work  to  do  in  that  five  minutes.  Governor,  with  our 
pistols,  we  must  watch  the  stairs." 


THE   MELEfi— A    CHARGE  —  FLIGHT  —  CAPTIVITY.          411 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE    MELEE  —  A    CHARGE  —  FLIGHT  —  CAPTIVITY. 

PROMPT  at  the  summons,  Rutledge,  then  the  dictator  of  South 
Carolina,  to  whom  the  state  had  intrusted  the  sovereign  discre 
tion  implied  in  the  words  of  his  charter  —  to  "see  that  the 
republic  sustained  no  harm" — followed  the  major  of  dragoons 
to  the  post  of  danger  with  as  little  hesitation  as  the  commonest 
foot-soldier  might  have  shown.  Here,  the  soldier  was  in  com 
mand,  and  the  sovereign  was  submissive.  Both  held  themselves 
in  readiness,  and  their  pistols  too,  at  the  head  of  the  stairway ; 
while  the  troopers  of  Inglehardt  were  striving  to  force  their 
entrance  from  the  hall  into  the  passage. 

"An  axe!  Bring  an  axe!"  was  the  shriek,  rather  than 
speech,  of  one  of  them,  appparently  in  command  below.  Had 
either  of  the  two  above-stairs  ever  heard  the  voice  of  Ingle- 
hardt's  fierce  little  red-headed  lieutenant,  Fry,  he  would  have 
been  at  no  loss  in  identifying  the  speaker.  Anon  —  was  heard  — 

"  Stand  away  !     Let  Crowell  strike  !" 

And  the  blows  resounded. 

At  this  moment,  Sinclair  discovered  Bertha  at  his  elbow, 
pale,  but  firm,  and  apparently  taking  position  in  the  ranks,  as 
if  in  waiting  for  her  share  in  the  fray. 

"Back!"  cried  he — "Back,  dearest  —  you  have  no  business 
here !  Back  to  your  chamber  and  keep  wholly  out  of  sight !" 

The  poor  girl  shrank  away,  thinking  the  speech  the  harshest 
she  had  ever  heard,  or  expected  to  hear,  from  the  lips  of  her 
lover.  But  it  was  no  time  for  mammets.  The  tilt  promised  to 
be  any  sort  but  that  of  loving  lips. 

The  blows  resounded  more  and  more  heavily  below ;  the 
splinters  were  heard  to  fly  from  the  door;  and,  after  a  few 
ITP>  strokes,  a  rending  crash,  and  a  shout,  announced  the 


412  THE   FORAYBHS. 

success  of  the  assailants.  The  door  was  shattered,  driven  from 
its  hinges,  and  the  troopers  dashed  into  the  passage.  They 
darted  forward  —  one,  two,  three  ! — headlong  up  the  steps. 

A  shot ! — the  foremost  is  stricken  down  with  a  bullet  through 
the  head !  He  fell  backward,  balanced  a  moment,  as  it  were, 
revolving  in  air,  then  yielded,  and  rolled  over,  down  between 
the  legs  of  his  companions ! 

There  was  a  pause  —  a  check  —  a  sensation.  Thus  suddenly 
to  lose  one  man  out  of  three  or  four  is  apt  to  cause  uncomforta 
ble  feelings  in  the  survivors. 

"  What !  do  you  stop  when  a  man  misses  a  step  ?  on  with 
you !  Don't  you  see  he's  only  scared.  Whoop  !  up,  boys ! 
There's  but  a  single  man  of  them !" 

So  Fry! — and  up  the  troopers  bounded  once  more  —  two, 
three,  four ;  Fry  pressing  behind  them  with  sword  and  pistol. 

Up  and  down  flew  the  bullets  —  a  little  wildly.  Another 
falls.  Sinclair  himself  is  grazed.  He  darts  down  with  his 
sabre ;  smites  right  and  left,  and  hurls  one  fellow  over  the  ban 
ister  !  The  space  between  the  parties  reduced,  his  powerful 
size  and  strength,  in  that  narrow  passage,  render  him  equal  to 
half  a  score.  Besides,  he  is  on  the  elevation.  He  strikes 
downward,  and  this  is  an  advantage.  Fry,  a  brave  little  fel 
low,  confronts  him,  and  his  arm,  the  right  arm,  drops,  hewn 
clean  off  at  the  shoulder  with  a  single  sweep  of  the  sabre. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  was  his  cry,  "I'm  ruined  for  life!"  and 
he  sank  down,  fainting,  at  the  feet  of  his  enemy,  and  rolled  to 
the  bottom  of  the  steps. 

But  two  men  now  confronted  our  major  of  dragoons  —  and 
they  shrank  —  staggered  back  —  down  the  stairs,  and  jostled 
each  other,  in  the  struggle,  made  with  backward  eyes,  to  regain 
the  door  of  the  passage  —  regain,  their  comrades. 

Shouts  within,  and  shouts  without,  confounded  their  senses. 
Sinclair  kept  his  ground,  midway  the  stairnight.  Rutledge  had 
reloaded  the  emptied  pistols.  He  himself  had  discharged  a 
couple,  and  he  now  joined  Sinclair  with  the  ready  weapons. 
The  latter  would  not  suffer  him  to  remain  at  the  position  which 
he  himself  occupied. 

"  They  are  preparing  for  more  deliberate  operations,'*  said 
lie  — "  but  deliberation  is  their  death!  Do  you  not  hear  the 


THE   MELEE  —  A    CHARGE  —  FLTGFIT  —  CAPTIVITY.      413 

bugles?"     Suddenly   tlicre  is  <i  wild  clninor  without — a  shout 

—  the  merry  and  shrill  clamor  of  the  trumpets,  and  the  heavy 
clangor  of  the  charging  horse. 

Sinclair  rushed  up  for  a  moment,  and  gave  a  hurried  glance, 
through  the  half-opened  window  of  one  of  the  chambers,  out 
upon  the  avenue  and  court.  He  beheld  the  melee  •= — a  glance 
was  enough.  He  rushed  down  stairs,  tore  away  the  bar  which 
secured  the  outer  door,  and,  waving  his  broadsword  aloft,  dart 
ed  out  into  the  piazza,  and  down  the  steps  —  shouting,  at  the 
topmost  pitch  of  his  voice,  as  he  came  forth  :  — 

"  Hurrah  !  dragoons  !  over  'em  !  They  are  yours  !  Feed 
the  sabre  as  they  fly  !  Into  them !  Through  'em,  my  brave 
fellows  !  You  are  a  match  for  fifty  more  such  rascals !" 

And  well  did  the  brave  troopers  second  the  encouragement 
of  the  major  of  dragoons,  and  deserve  it !  The  squad  of  Ingle- 
hardt,  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  was  already  scattered.  Some 
darted  into  the  woods  below,  others  for  the  swamp.  Their  cap 
tain  nowhere  to  be  seen  —  their  fierce  little  Ensign  Fry,  bleed 
ing  helplessly  to  death  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  the  dwelling 

—  they  were  without  a  head,  and  the  members  were  soon  dis 
persed  and  broken  ;  all  but  a  group  of  ten  or  a  dozen,  who  kept 
together,  and  dashed  into  the  upper  avenue,  relying  on  their 
hoofs  rather  than  their  broadswords. 

But  the  dragoons  were  soon  upon  their  haunches.  Sinclair 
himself  was  now  mounted,  having  seized  upon  a  vacant  saddle 

—  a  steed  that,  in  his  fright  and  confusion — had  actually  thrust 
his  nose  into  one  of  the  basement  windows  of  the  house. 

The  poor  beast  —  not  a  bad  beast  either  —  was  that  of  Fry. 
Once  astride  this  animal,  the  spurs  of  Sinclair  soon  brought  him 
to  the  right-about ;  and  he  dashed  forward  with  all  his  mettle, 
now  quite  recovered,  in  pursuit  of  his  flying  associates.  These, 
hard  pressed,  wheeled  about,  and  emptying  their  pistols  full  in 
the  face  of  their  pursuers,  but  without  doing  much  mischief, 
they  prepared  for  the  encounter,  pell-mell,  with  the  slashing 
broadsword.  Presenting  a  good  force,  they  completely  covered 
the  narrow  avenue  in  which  they  were  overtaken. 

"Charge  !"  cried  Sinclair,  with  all  the  glad  fury  of  the  Hun, 
raging  with  battle.  But,  even  in  that  moment,  a  voice  as  loud, 
and  clearer  than  his  ovn,  tirade-red  out,  at  his  very  side:  — 


414  THE   FORAYERS. 

"Spare  them,  Sinclair!  Remember,  they  are  our  country 
men  !  Let  them  accept  mercy — let  them  make  submission  ! 
We  will  receive  them  into  our  ranks !  Submit,  brave  fellows, 
it  is  better  to  live  for  your  country,  than  to  die  for  a  foreign 
tyrant !  Submit  and  save  yourselves  !" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Rutledge.  He,  too,  had  seized  upon  a 
vagrant  steed,  and  was  now  riding  by  Sinclair's  side  —  an 
emptied  pistol  in  his  hand,  no  hat  upon  his  head,  his  arm  wav 
ing  wide,  as  was  its  wont  when  he  thundered  in  speech — and 
his  lofty  person  rising  to  the  full  majesty  of  the  words  which 
he  had  spoken. 

And  the  words  were  as  magical  as  majestic.  The  loyalists 
lowered  their  swords,  and  made  the  sign  of  submission,  wheeled 
into  the  rear  of  Sinclair's  troop,  and  became  good  rebels  after 
a  creditable  fashion. 

However  strange  the  fact,  the  case  was  frequent.  The  wise 
policy  of  Rutledge  brought  back  hundreds  to  the  ranks  of  the 
country.  He  knew  that  the  cause  had  not  been  well  under 
stood  at  first  —  that  many  were  beguiled  by  false  counsellors  — 
than  many  had  been  driven  by  injustice  into  the  ranks  of  the 
enemy,  and  that  it  needed  only  to  take  all  such,  at  the  happy 
moment,  to  persuade,  convince,  or  —  subsidize.  The  victory 
was  won.  All  but  seven  or  eight  of  Inglehardt's  followers 
were  to  be  counted  upon  the  ground,  or  in  captivity.  The  fu 
gitives,  dashing  into  the  woods  below,  which  it  had  been  ar 
ranged  that  Coulter's  troop  was  to  cover,  had  thus  far  succeeded 
in  making  their  escape.  These  were  to  be  looked  after  at  a 
future  moment. 

Sinclair  and  Rutledge,  with  the  troopers,  now  rode  back  to 
the  dwelling,  where  some  time  was  spent  necessarily  in  the  in 
spection  of  the  field,  in  removing  the  dead  from  the  house,  and 
purging  it  of  its  bloody  testimonials.  Here,  it  was  found  that 
the  fierce  little  Lieutenant  Fry,  had  bled  to  death  ;  not  an  un« 
frequent  event  where  such  formidable  wounds  were  given,  and 
in  a  service  which,  like  that  of  our  partisans,  was  attended  by 
but  few  surgeons.  Fry  was  utterly  lifeless  when  his  body  was 
examined,  but  it  was  still  warm.  Two  others  were  found  slain 
by  pistol-shots  —  three  lay  severely  wounded  in  the  court,  and 
one  killed ;  seven  were  slightly  wounded,  and  within  the 


THE   MELEF    -A    CHARGE — FLIGHT CAI'TIVITT.        415 

succor  of  the  simplest  surgery,  and  only  some   half-dozen  of 
the  tory  troop  remained  to  be  picked  up  or  accounted  for. 

But  where  was  their  captain  —  where  Inglehardt,  who  had 
been  so  securely  corded,  as  it  was  thought,  and  muffled  up  in 
the  passage  of  the  Lasement?  When  they  came  to  look  for 
him,  he  was  gone.  Ho  had  evidently  found  assistance  from 
other  hands  than  his  own,  and  had  escaped.  He  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  When,  n  little  while  after,  the  ladies  were  refer 
red  to,  they  knew  nothing.  They  had  heard  noises  below,  but 
had  not  ventured  from  the  upper  chambers,  till  Sinclair's  reap 
pearance  in  the  court  below  had  reassured  them  ;  and  even 
then  they  had  not  descended  to  the  lower  story. 

But  we  have  source  of  information  beyond  theirs,  by  which 
to  account  for  the  escape  of  the  captain  of  loyalists.  He  had  a 
friend  capable  of  succoring  him,  in  one,  who,  though  his  crea 
ture,  was  about  the  last  creature  in  the  world  to  whom  he 
should  have  looked  for  help  in  a  moment  of  danger.  But  the 
mouse  can  gnaw  through  the  meshes  of  the  lion,  and  Ingle- 
hardt's  mouser  came  to  his  aid  at  a  happy  moment. 

It  happened  that,  in  the  very  moment  when  the  conflict  began, 
Julius,  the  mulatto  house-servant  of  Travis,  trembling  with 
terror,  had  crept  into  one  of  the  basement  windows.  Here,  in 
one  of  the  darkest  places,  he  crouched  in  an  ague  fit,  and 
remained  unconscious  of  everything  but  the  shouts,  the  shots, 
the  clang  of  sabres,  and  the  rush  of  steeds  without,  until  the 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives  by  our  major  of  dragoons.  Then,  lie 
recovered  courage  to  look  about  him,  but  not  yet  to  look  out. 
He  heard  a  difficult  breathing  in  the  passage  —  a  rustling,  rest- 
lesr,  motion  —  and  a  feeble  voice,  half-stifled,  crying,  at  moments, 
for  succor.  It  was  some  time  before  the  mulatto  dared  approach 
the  object  of  his  apprehension,  and  ascertain  the  fact,  that  the 
prisoner,  thus  fettered,  and  half-smothered  in  the  coverlet  torn 
from  the  bed  of  his  mistress,  and  wrapped  tolerably  snugly 
about  his  neck,  and  over  his  head,  was  the  wily  tory  whom  he 
had  so  profitlessly  served  in  this  very  expedition.  With  trem- 
bling  hands  the  mulatto  cut  the  cords,  tore  off  the  bandage, 
and  released  the  prisoner. 

A  glance  at  the  field,  taken  stealthily  through  the  windows, 
revealed  to  Inglehardt  the  whole  plan  of  escape.  The  troopers 


416  THE   FORAYERS. 

were  in  pursuit.  The  negroes  had  all  fled  to  hiding-places. 
None  but  wounded,  iying,  or  dead  men  were  to  be  seen,  and 
it  was  just  possible  to  steal  out,  unnoticed,  to  the  swamp. 
Thither,  accordingly,  he  determined  to  fly ;  and  he  made  the 
attempt  in  safety,  taking  Julius  with  him.  He  buried  himself, 
as  soon  as  possible,  up  to  the  neck,  among  the  thick  reeds  and 
willows  of  the  swamp. 

Here,  he  could  still,  in  some  measure,  be  a  witness  of  the 
scene.  He  could  hear  the  shouts  of  victory,  the  tramplings  of 
the  horse,  the  blasts  of  the  bugle,  and  then  the  regular  trot  of 
the  troop  as  it  passed  into  the  woods  below ;  and,  finally,  to  his 
great  relief,  down  came  the  darkening  shadows  of  night  over 
river  and  forest.  Under  her  friendly  shelter,  Inglehardt  stole 
out  from  his  hiding-place,  making  for  the  river,  and  designing 
to  swim  across.  But  here  he  found  the  boat  which  Sinclair  had 
employed  in  his  passage  to  and  fro.  He  gladly  availed  himself 
of  the  opportunity  which  it  oflVed  him,  and,  having  made  the 
boy  Julius  first  enter,  he  leaped  in  himself,  and  allowed  the 
little  vessel  to  drop  down  stream.  The  navigation  was  not 
intricate,  and  he  knew  it  well ;  and  when  he  reached  the  mouth 
of  Four-mile  Branch,  he  ran  the  dug-out  in,  pressed  upward  as 
far  as  the  waters  would  allow,  and  then  put  his  little  vessel  in  a 
place  of  concealment  near  the  banks,  closely  covered  with  a 
matted  thicket. 

Here  he  felt  himself  tolerably  safe.  It  was  now  quite  dark, 
though  the  night  was  clear  and  starlighted.  He  was  now,  he 
knew,  within  half  a  mile  of  the  lay  thicket,  whither  he  had  or 
dered  Travis  to  be  taken,  and  where  he  was  to  be  kept,  until  he 
should  return  from  his  enterprise  against  Sinclair  at  Holly -Dale. 
He  never  anticipated  his  own  return  in  his  present  condition ; 
but,  with  usual  and  proper  precaution,  the  same  lay  had  been 
appointed  as  the  place  of  rendezvous  for  his  troopers  in  case 
they  should  be  scattered  in  pursuit  or  flight.  He  could  soon 
reach  this  point,  and  everything  was  silent.  That  he  did  not 
immediately  attempt  it  was  due  to  his  exhaustion.  He  was 
sore  from  his  recent  bonds,  and  wearied,  not  to  speak  of  a  tem 
porary  depression  of  spirits  that  was  quite  natural  to  his  rever 
ses.  Once  he  thought  of  sounding  his  bugle,  which  was  still 
about  his  neck,  but  he  prudently  recollected  that  its  summons 


THE   MELEE — A    CHARGE  —  FLIGHT  —  CAPTIVITY.       41 

might  bring  flown  upon  him  far  other  visitors  than  those  whom 
he  cared  to  entertain  at  present.  He  concluded  to  keep  snugly 
in  his  canoe  for  an  hour,  and  then  venture  out  to  the  place  of 
rendezvous.  His  present  place  of  refuge  was  favorable  to  any 
movement  which  he  might  desire  to  make,  enabling  him  to 
steal  back  again  to  Holly-Dale,  should  he  see  fit  —  and  this  was 
to  depend  wholly  upon  the  number  of  fugitives  which  should 
join  him  at,  the  "bay  —  to  return  to  Orangeburg,  should  the  con 
quering  troop  of  Sinclair  not  take  the  same  direction ;  to  put 
himself  across  the  river,  or  go  still  farther  down  the  stream, 
should  the  exigency  of  the  case  render  it  necessary  that  he 
should  increase  the  distance  between  himself  and  his  enemy. 
Inglehardt  could  meditate  his  plans  coolly  still,  in  spite  of  his 
mortifications  of  flesh  and  spirit  —  in  spite  of  the  defeat  of  his 
objects,  and  the  loss,  now  felt  for  the  first  time,  of  his  pistols, 
sword  and  snuff-box.  His  nose  —  and  it  felt  the  privation  — 
was  unfed  during  the  whole  of  his  meditation. 

Leaving  him  to  brood  above  his  paddles,  and  in  waiting  upon 
Fate,  we  return  to  Holly-Dale. 

While  Inglehardt  had  thus  been  stealing  off  in  security,  Sin 
clair  had  been  busily  engaged  in  reaping  the  field  which  he 
had  won,  and  arranging  his  plan  of  future  operations.  Much 
had  to  be  done,  occupying  considerable  time,  before  he  could  re 
join  the  ladies.  Rutledge  required  him  in  consultation,  ana 
there  was  something  to  be  understood  in  regard  to  the  troop 
with  which  the  victory  had  been  obtained,  which  taxed  his  con 
sideration.  This  troop  was  not  that  of  Coulter ;  was,  in  fact, 
only  a  detachment  from  that  of  Captain  St.  Julien,  under  the 
command  of  Lieutenant  Mazyck.  St.  Julien  had  been  com 
pelled  to  go,  with  one  half  of  his  force,  in  pursuit  of  a  mixed 
body  of  tories  and  black  dragoons  (negroes),  which  had  been 
reported  as  breaking  cover  somewhere  on  the  Soui>  Edisto ; 
and  thither  had  Coulter  also  gone  with  his  company,  ifore  the 
summons  of  Sinclair  could  reach  him.  Mazyck,  accordingly, 
had  brought  with  him  but  twenty-five  troopers ;  but,  when  we 
add  to  these,  some  thirteen  of  Inglehardt's  squad  —  raw  fellows, 
but  docile,  who  had  accepted  Rutledge's  offer  of  pardon  for 
past  offences  —  the  thirty-eight,  all  told,  made  a  body  sufficient 
ly  strong  for  present  purposes. 

18* 


118  THE    PORAYERS. 

Jim  Ballon  had  also  come  back,  from  his  fruitless  search  after 
Coulter,  and  'Bram,  the  negro,  had  reacned  the  field  in  season 
to  dash  in,  after  his  master,  and  make  his  demonstrations  in  the 
fight,  when  it  promised  to  be  fiercest.  Under  Sinclair's  eye, 
and  seconding  his  charge,  'Bram  had  already  shown  that  he 
could  be  a  fearful  customer.  He  had  some  scruples  about  the 
prudence  and  propriety  of  warfare,  unless  some  dashing  cava 
lier  of  the  white  race  put  himself  in  the  van  of  battle. 

Having  seer  to  his  troopers,  and  ascertained  the  facts  in  his 
situation,  Sinclair  prepared,  accompanied  by  Rutledge,  to  re 
visit  the  ladies,  and  relieve  their  anxieties.  They  re-entered 
the  house  together,  and  while  the  dictator  remained  in  the  par 
lor  below,  our  major  of  dragoons  ascended  the  stairs.  He  was 
met  midway  by  Bertha,  whom  he  caught  with  a  loving  fierce 
ness  in  his  arms,  pressing  her  lips  with  his  own,  before  she 
could  apprehend  his  purpose,  and  extricate  herself  from  his 
grasp. 

"  All's  safe,  Bertha.     We  are  the  masters  of  the  field." 
'Is  all  safe?"  answered  the  girl,  with  anxiety  and  trembling 
— "  Is  all  safe,  Willie  ?     Where's  TTcnry,  n>v  l)rotiier  F 

"  Henry,  yoar  brother  !"  exclaimed  Sinclair,  staggered  b} 
the  question,  and  at  once  reproaching  himself  for  his  seeming 
forgetfulnt-ss  of  the  noble  boy. 

"  Is  he  not  here  ?     Has  he  not  "been  with  you  ?" 

"No  !  no  !  Good  Heavens,  Willie,  what  is  become  of  him  ? 
Have  you  not  seen  him  ?" 

Yes,  to  be  sure ;  I  saw  him  when  I  rode  out  to  charge  the 
enemy  up  the  avenue.  I  saw  him,  then,  and  heard  him  shout 
ing,  and  thought  he  followed  me,  but,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
charge,  I  lost  him  ;  and  on  my  return,  seeing  no  more  of  him, 
I  concluded  he  had  joined  his  mother  and  yourself." 

"  Oh,  Willie !  this  is  terrible !  What  can  have  become  of 
him  ?  Go,  dear  Willie,  go  seek  and  find  him,  and  come  back 
soon  with  him,  for  mother  is  in  a  wretched  state  of  uneasiness 
Hasten,  Willie,  while  I  go  back  and  quiet  her,  with  a  hope 
that  you  will  find  and  bring  him  soon." 

Sinclair  at  once  dashed  down  the  stairs,  and,  in  a  few  word? 
told  Rntledge  Ins  new  cause  of  anxiety,  in  which  the  sympa 
thies  of  the  lattci-  wo,>-«  ^oeply  interested. 


Thfc    MELEE  —  A    CHARGE  —  PLIGHT CAPTIVHT.       419 

"But  /  must  go,  Sinclair,  you  are  aware  — go  at  once ;  I  am 
expected,  and  hope  to  meet  General  Greene  to-night.  Too 
much  depends  apon  mere  moments  now,  to  suffer  me  to  delay, 
even  though  to  help  in  the  search  for  this  gallant  boy." 

"  I  know  it,  sir ;  and,  if  you  please,  will  despatch  an  escort 
of  ten  men  with  you,  under  Lieutenant  Mazyck,  who  will  ac- 
company  you  across  the  river,  crossing  at  Shilling's,  which  is 
the  shortest  rout  to  Herrisperger's,  and  going  on  with  you  to  the 
meeting  with  General  Greene,  if  you  require  it." 

"  No  !  no  !  that  will  not  be  necessary.  I  have  my  two  aids 
waiting  for  me  at  Herrisperger's  and  they  will  suffice  for  escort 
The  road  is  pretty  clear  now.  We  know  where  Rawdon  is  on 
the  Congaree,  and  that  Greene's  detachment  is  even  now  in 
advance  of  him.  All's  safe  along  my  route,  and  I  will  send 
your  man  back  as  soon  as  I  reach  Herrisperger's.  You,  mean 
while,  see  after  the  boy,  and  join  the  army  with  all  despatch. 
We  have  active  work  for  all  our  cavalry  below." 

"  Touching  Captain  Travis,  governor,  and  his  petition  ?" 
'  It  is  granted.     Here  is  the  document  which  gives  him  in 
demnity.     His  papers  are  valuable  to  us,  and  I  do  not  question 
his  fidelity  in  future.     His  danger  is  now  from  the  enemy.    His 
absence  suggests  the  fear  that  Inglehardt  has  found  him  out,  and 
secured  him  in  Orangeburg.     Now  is  the  time  to  dash  into  the 
village,  empty  the  jail,  where  they  are  said  to  have  some  score 
or  two  of  refractory  Irish  in  limbo,  and  where  Travis  is  prob 
ably  laid  by  the  heels  also.     Be  sure,  while  you  are  about  this 
business,  to  secure  what  remains  of  the  commissariat  in  Orange- 
burg.     Get  all  the  clothes  and  munitions  that  you  can ;  and,  by 
loading  your  troopers  well,  and  moving  promptly  up  the  river, 
you  will  be  able  to  join  us,  before  Rawdon  can  possibly  make 
his  way  across  the  country.     You  will  probably  find  the  Irish, 
whom  you  emancipate,  willing  to  take  arms  against  their  former 
owners.     If  so,  mount  them,  and  bring  them  along  behind  your 
troopers.     Of  course,  you  will  search  for  the  boy  ;  but  beware 
that  you  do  not  linger  one  hour  too  long.     You  must  give  up 
the  search,  if  it  delays  you  over  the  next  twenty-four  hours. 
However  painful  it  may  be  to  you,  in  your  relations  with  this 
very  interesting  family,  to  forego  the  search,  you  are  neither  to 
peril  your  troop,  nor  embarrass  cniv  purposes  in  any  fruitless 


420  TFF   FORAYERS. 

waste  of  time.  If  the  boy  is  slain,  which  God  forbid  !  you  will 
find  his  body,  no  doubt,  in  yonder  wood.  If  the  fugitives  have 
borne  him  along  with  them,  they  will  hardly  ill-treat  such  a 
child  —  indeed,  will  hardly  think  it  worth  while  to  detain  him." 

"  Ah !  sir,  you  know  not  this  cold-blooded  scoundrel  Ingle- 
liardt,  or  his  objects.  The  father  and  son  in  his  power,  he  will 
hope  to  establish  a  fearful  hold  upon  the  family." 

"  But  he  is  a  fugitive,  also." 

"  He  has  escaped,  and  flies,  it  is  true ;  but  he  has  probably 
caught  the  boy  in  his  flight ;  and,  while  we  were  pressing  upon 
the  enemy  up  the  avenue,  has  succeeded  in  carrying  him  off. 
The  father's  wealth,  the  daughter's  beauty,  are  both  objects  of 
greedy  desire  with  Inglehardt;  and  father  and  son  in  his 
power,  how  terrible  is  the  hold  which  he  possesses  upon  the 
mother  and  daughter!" 

Sinclair  readily  conceived  the  policy  of  his  enemy,  from  a 
knowledge  of  his  character. 

"  It,  is  a  cruel  prospect  to  survey,  but,  I  trust,  that  you  ex 
aggerate  its  dangers.  As  a  fugitive,  and  pressed  by  your  troop 
ers,  Inglehardt's  flight  must  be  one  of  embarrassments,  which 
will  probably  compel  him  to  cast  off  his  prisoners,  assuming 
that  he  has  them." 

"  He  may  brain  them  first,"  said  Sinclair,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Hardly,  if  his  purpose  be  such  as  you  indicate.  No  !  no  ! 
my  dear  fellow,  look  at  the  thing  more  cheerfully.  Press  the 
pursuit;  urge  the  hunt  and  search;  be  prompt  and  keen;  be 
quick ;  do  not  lose  time ;  and,  if  you  fail  to  find  the  boy  and 
his  father,  at  least,  your  failure  will  be  temporary.  My  life 
upon  it,  Inglehardt  will  harm  neither.  His  policy  demands  that 
he  should  not." 

"  But  should  he  give  Travis  up  to  Balfour  or  Rawdon,  they 
will  hang  him." 

"  He  will  hardly  do  that  either,  unless  he  finds  his  schemes 
have  been  defeated.  No !  no !  shake  off  your  gloom,  and  go 
to  your  duty.  Send  out  your  scouts  at  once,  and  scour  all  the 
woods  down  to  Orangeburg.  Let  us  both  away  on  our  separate 
duties  at  oncvi.  Let  me  have  your  escort.  The  night  is  upon 
us." 

And  the  two  parted,  going  several  ways ;    Rutledge,  wW 


THE   MLLEE  —  A    CHARGE—  FLIGHT  —  CAPTIVITY.      421 

Mazyck  and  his  escort  upward,  a  ad  Sinclair  with  all  but  two 
troopers,  left  to  watch  Holly-Dale,  burying  himself  in  the  lower 
woods,  where,  under  direction  of  Ballon,  the  scout,  some  of  the 
men  carrying  torches,  the  whole  command  was  so  scattered  as 
to  cover  the  width  of  the  wood  from  the  edge  of  the  swamp  to  the 
main  road.  Thus  displayed,  the  troopers  pushed  down  in  equal 
line,  with  regular  pressure,  and  as  rapidly  as  they  might  con 
sistently  with  their  purpose  of  close  search  along  the  route. 
The  lower  swamp  itself  could  not  be  penetrated  on  horseback, 
or  searched  successfully  by  night,  and  Sinclair  shook  his  head 
sadly  as  he  thought  that  the  poor  boy  might,  even  then,  be  held 
down,  and  half  stifled,  not  a  hundred  yards  distant,  in  some 
one  of  its  deep  r3cesses. 


THE    FORAYEBS 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

HOW    HENkY    TRAVIS    FARED    IN    HIS    FIRST    BATTLE. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  before  the  attempt  to  search  the  woodti 
was  begun,  a  thorough  inquiry  was  made  among  the  troopers, 
and  a  search  of  the  grounds  immediately  about  the  house  in 
stituted,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  find  some  clues  to  the  fate  of  the 
boy.  But  no  information  Avas  obtained  which  could  be  relied 
on,  or  which  was  in  any  way  valuable.  He  had  been  seen  by 
several  persons,  but  only  for  a  moment ;  and  when  the  excite 
ment  of  the  conflict  was  such  that  each  had  his  own  cause  of 
anxiety,  his  own  work  on  hand,  and  when  one  impression  in 
stantly  dispersed  all  traces  of  the  preceding.  His  boyish  eager 
ness  had  been  noted,  his  boyish  shouts  were  remembered.  But 
it  was  surprising  how  completely  he  had  been  lost  sight  of  by 
everybody,  in  the  moment  when  Sinclair  himself  lost  sight  of 
him;  —  the  moment  when  the  latter  cliarged  up  the  northwest 
avenue,  in  the  final  assault  upon  the  only  party  of  the  loyalists 
who  still  showed  am  embodied  front.  We  have  seen  the  fortu 
nate  result  of  this  charge,  and  need  say  no  more  on  the  subject. 
When  Sinclair  first  heard  from  Bertha  that  Henry  had  not  ap 
peared,  a  full  hour  had  elapsed  after  the  strife  was  over  —  this 
time  being  consumed  in  collecting  the  prisoners,  attending  to 
the  wounded,  and  making  such  dispositions  as  were  called  for 
by  the  safety  of  the  party,  and  in  the  consultation  with  Rut- 
ledge. 

Feeling  some  natural  self-reproaches  for  his  momentary  for- 
gelfulness  of  one  so  really  dear  to  him  as  Henry  Travis,  and 
now  greatly  anxious  for  his  fate,  Sinclair  hastened  his  proceed 
ings  for  the  search,  and  having  made  such  arrangements  as 
would  tend  to  the  better  prosecution  of  his  attempts,  he  soon 
disappeared  with  his  command,  meaning  himself  to  lead  the 


HOW  HENRY  TRAylS  FARED.  428 

hunt,  at  all  events  until  the  party  readied  Four-Mile  creek  ; 
when  it  was  his  purpose,  whether  successful  or  not,  to  press 
down  with  the  larger  body  of  his  men,  by  a  rapid  movement 
ipon  Orangeburg,  fulfilling  the  objects  iiWfccated  in  his  confe 
rence  with  Rutledge.  The  further  search  after  the  boy,  if  he 
was  not  recovered  before  readying  that  point,  was  to  be  left  to 
Ballou  and  'Bram,  with  half  a  dozen  of  the  best  scouts  from 
among  the  dragoons.  Nothing  more  could  then  be  thought  of. 

Leaving  our  major  of  dragoons  to  this  labor,  we  return  to  the 
field,  and  resume  our  narrative  of  the  struggle. 

It  is  for  us  to  supply  the  deficient  knowledge,  which  now 
prompted  the  search  of  Sinclair ;  and  to  show  by  what  proces 
ses  our  young  friend,  Harry  Travis,  disappeared  from  the  scene 
of  action.  We  have  the  evidence  of  his  presence  upon  the 
field.  He  came  down  with  the  rest,  in  the  rapid  charge  of 
Mazyck,  which  surprised  the  loyalists,  at  the  moment  when 
Lieutenant  Fry,  and  three  or  four  of  his  followers  were  break 
ing  into  the  house.  Those  without,  sitting  their  horses  care 
lessly,  OA  dismounted  and  strolling  about  the  grounds,  were 
taken  wholly  by  surprise  when  the  dragoons  charged ;  and  be 
ing  raw  recruits  mostly,  and  totally  lacking  the  coolness  and 
steadiness  of  old  soldiers,  dispersion  followed,  except  in  the 
.small  group  of  ten  or  a  dozen,  who,  wheeling  around  the  house, 
dashed  up  the  avenue,  the  only  opening,  which  promised  them 
an  unobstructed  course  for  flight.  The  rest,  whether  on  horse 
or  a-foot,  darted  at  once  for  shelter  into  the  lower  woods,  or 
scattered  themselves  about  the  grounds,  to  be  run  down,  and 
knocked  severally  on  the  head  by  Mazyck's  troopers,  some  of 
whom  very  naturally  addressed  themselves  to  these  perform 
ances. 

Henry  Travis,  pistols  in  hand,  found  himself  thus  engaged, 
along  with  the  rest,  almost  without  a  thought.  He  had  heard 
the  shout  of  Sinclair,  and  his  own  had  answered  it  with  an  ex 
ulting  sense  of  joyousness ;  but  the  major,  at  that  moment,  was 
on  one  side  of  the  house,  he  on  the  other  ;  Sinclair  was  dragging 
forth  the  horse  of  Fry,  preparing  to  charge  the  only  compact 
force  of  the  enemy  which  still  kept  the  field.  Henry  did  not 
see  him  —  did  not  know  of  the  party  which  had  swept  up  the 
avenue.  His  eyes  were  sufficiently  occupied  with  the  fugitive 


424  THE  FORAYERS. 

figures,  on  liorse  or  afoot,  that  were  to  be  seen  scattering  in 
search  of  cover ;  and  he  was  led  away,  by  a  natural  impulse, 
which  effectually  rendered  him  heedless  of  any  objects,  but  the 
one  actually  befor04i,is  eyes. 

Now,  it  Avill  be  remembered,  that  Inglehardt  had  left  Dick 
of  Tophet  and  Brunson  the  Trailer,  in  cover  behind  the  dairy, 
commissioned  with  the  special  duty  of  securing  the  person  of 
Bertha  Travis,  and  making  off  with  her  to  the  swamp,  irrespec 
tive  of  any  of  the  proceedings  of  himself  and  his  troopers.  This 
was  one  grand  feature  of  his  meditated  performances  that  day, 
the  next  in  importance  to  the  one  task  which  he  assigned  to 
himself,  of  capturing  or  destroying  Sinclair.  We  have  seen  the 
fruits  of  his  mistake,  in  supposing  that  Sinclair  was  the  only 
guest  at  ^lolly-Dale. 

Dick  of  Tophet  and  the  Trailer  were  duly  impressed  with 
the  importance  of  the  duty  confided  to  their  hands,  by  the 
promise  of  ten  guineas  —  an  immense  sum  in  those  days  —  to  be 
divided  between  them,  in  the  event  of  the  girl's  captivity,  and 
her  safe  delivery,  in  the  swamp,  into  the  hands  of  their  em 
ployer.  He  had  his  reasons  for  not  undertaking  her  seizure  at 
the  house  in  person.  His  emissaries  were  instructed  that  they 
were  to  confine  themselves  wholly  to  the  one  object,  and  not  to 
take  part  in  any  other  performances  of  the  troopers.  The  rest 
of  the  duties  of  the  day,  Inglehardt  reserved  wholly  to  himself, 
and  his  lieutenant,  Fry,  and  entertained  no  misgivings  —  as 
why  should  he?  —  of  the  perfect  adequacy,  for  his  objects,  of 
all  his  arrangements. 

Dick  of  Tophet  and  the  Trailer,  accordingly,  having 
fastened  their  horses,  along  with  that  of  their  captavi,  in  a 
slose  patch  of  the  wood,  some  fifty  or  sixty  yards  south  of  the 
settlement,  had  taken  their  places  of  watch  in  the  rear  of  the 
dairy.  Here  they  were  conveniently  situated  for  covering  the 
garden,  the  kitchen,  and,  by  a  sudden  dash,  compassing  the 
open  ground  between  these  points  and  the  dwelling.  But  their 
position  did  not  suffice  to  take  in  any  of  the  grounds  above, 
either  in  the  north  or  west.  On  foot,  and  sheltered  by  woods 
or  fences,  they  could  see  nothing  of  the  upper  avenue.  But 
they  could  hear,  and  were  soon  apprized  by  the  blast  of  the 
l-ugle,  which  thoT'  "  <<^osed  to  be  Inglehardt's,  and  by  the 


HOW    HENRY    TRAVIS    FARED.  425 

strokes  of  the  axe  upon  the  inner  doors  of  the  dwelling,  tha< 
there  was  sjme  resistance  to  be  overcome,  the  character  of 
which  they  could  only  conjecture.  They  concluded  that  Sin 
clair,  taken  in  the  toils,  had  barricaded  himself,  in  one  of  thfl 
chambers,  and  that  Inglehardt  was  forcing  his  way  in.  Their 
next  conclusion  was,  that,  so  soon  as  the  strife  should  be  begun 
in  the  house,  the  females  would  be  forced  to  leave  it,  and  to  fly, 
cither  to  the  kitchen  or  the  woods.  They  were  to  keep  them 
selves  ready  for  this  event  and  moment.  To  do  this,  they 
stole  into  the  garden,  tearing  off  the  palings  sufficiently  to  ob 
tain  entrance,  and  passing  up,  under  shelter  of  the  fence  all  the 
while,  to  that  corner  of  it  which  stood  nearest  to  the  dwelling. 
Here,  they  might  have  penetrated  into  the  court,  by  simply  open 
ing  the  gate  of  the  garden  ;  but  any  premature  exhibition  of  their 
persons  might  only  have  defeated  their  objects ;  and  they  final 
ly  crept  forward  from  this  point  to  one  of  the  angles  of  the  gar 
den,  which  led  obliquely  to  the  lower  or  southern  avenue. 
Here  the  woods  approached  very  closely  to  the  garden.  The 
thicket  of  oakwtiods,  sprinkled  with  pines,  was  of  some  density  ; 
and  it  was  from  this  point  that  Inglehardt's  troopers  had  gradu 
ally  pressed  forward  into  the  open  area  about  the  dwelling. 
The  employment  of  Fry,  within  the  hoiise  —  the  noise  of  his 
axe,  naturally  acting  upon  their  anxieties,  had  led  them  for 
ward,  and  they  were  grouped  carelessly  but  curiously  about  the 
dwelling,  on  that  side  chiefly,  from  which  Fry  and  his  follow 
ers  had  forced  their  way  into  the  windows.  There  was  no 
enemy  to  be  seen,  and,  in  such  cases,  raw  recruits  are  apt  to 
think  that  none  is  to  be  feared.  So  completely,  indeed,  did 
the  place  seem  to  be  in  the  hands  of  Inglehardt — so  entirely 
at  his  mercy  —  that  its  situation  appealed  to  the  cupidity,  even 
against  caution,  of  such  old  soldiers  as  Dick  of  Tophet  and 
the  Trailer.  The  former  as  he  looked  out  and  listened  —  noting 
the  eager  but  careless  groups  in  the  foreground,  exclaimed  to 
his  companion : — 

"  Gimini !  Gimini !  Rafe  !  there's  nice  pickings  to  be  had  in 
that  establishment ;  and  we  might  ax  sensibly,  who's  to  git  'em  ?" 

"  I  reckon  ;  but  I  don't  think  that  the  cappin  is  a-guine  to  let 
any  of  us  hev'  a  hack  at  it ;  he'll  be  for  keeping  it  all  to  himself." 

"  I  reckon  he'll  not  be  able  to  help  it,  ef  the  thing  once  be- 


426  THE    FORAYERS. 

gins,  ami  we  kin  only  git  a  little  Jamaica  to  set  tlie  boys  fahly 
a-fire.  I  say,  Rafe,  one  of  us  is  enough  to  take  tins  gal  off  in 
safety,  and  t'other  kiirwork  for  both  in  picking  up  the  little 
gould  and  silver  things  that's  apt  to  be  lying  about,  jest  ready 
for  the  hands,  when  a  family's  a  leetle  in  fright  and  confusion. 
The  cappin  needn't  knoAv  but  that  we  brought  off  the  gal  to 
gether.  Eh  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  S'pose  you  takes  the  gal 
affair  upon  your  hands,  while  I  see  to  the  pickings  about  the 
place,  and  we'll  share  honest  what  we  gits  together  ?" 

"  Ah  !  Dick,  don't  I  know  what  sort  o'  share  is  guine  to  come 
to  me  ?  Don't  I  know  you  too  well  1  You  ain't  a-guine  to  let 
me  see  or  smell  a  quarter  of  the  things  you  picks  up." 

"  Who  the  h— 1  says  I  ain't  honest  ?  Look  you,  Rafe  Brun- 
son,  it's  not  the  part  of  an  old  friend  to  make  sich  insinivations1 
A  man's  character  for  fair  dealing  with  his  friends,  when  the 
business  is  pickings  and  putting  away,  is  more  precious  than  any 
gould  and  silver ;  and  T'll  hev'  my  fingers  in  the  hair  of  any 
pusson,  in  mighty  short  order,  that  says  I  takes  more  than  my 
rightful  share  in  the  incomings  of  cur  right  honorable  profession  ]" 
"  Well,  don't  be  putting  your  fingers  into  my  wool,  Dick, 
till  I  gives  you  occasion.  But  jest  say  now,  up  and  down, 
you'll  give  us  hafe  of  what  you  picks  up  Dick  ?" 

"  Hafe  !  I  didn't  say  that !  But  I'll  give  a  rightful  share 
to  the  man  that's  my  partner  in  the  business.  Hafe's  another 
thing.  It  don't  stand  to  reason  that  he  should  hev'  a  full  hafe ; 
bekaise  him  that  takes  all  the  risk,  lies  a  right  to  all,  'cept  what 
he  chooses  to  think  the  other  one  desarves.  Now,  yon  know 
that,  I'm  always  for  the  most  resk,  and  I  don't  vally  pistol-shot 
or  sabre-cut,  when  it's  all  that  stands  a'tween  me  and  a  pretty 
pickings.  But  you  does.  You  don't  go  into  a  skrimmage  with 
a  whole  heart.  You're  best  for  trailing  and  scouting,  and  I'm 
best  for  fighting;  and  we  shares  accordin  to  a  man's  natur,  and 
what  his  desarvings  calls  for.  Don't  I  know  that  when  that 
house  is  a  gutting,  I'll  be  called  upon  to  draw  knife  on  some  of 
them  troopers?  Don't  you  see  that  I'll  hev  to  fight,  hand  to 
hand,  with  the  Lord  knows  who  or  how  many  —  prehaps  a 
dozen !  And  don't  you  see  that  I  kain't  stand  to  see  one  of 
them  chuckleheads  carrying  off  a  fine  gould  watch,  or  a  great 
silver  basin,  or  a  heavy  silver  cup,  or  any  precious  fine  thing 


HOW    HENRY   TRAVIS   FARED.  427 

chat  he  don't  know  the  vally  of,  when  small  chores  would 
answer  just  as  well  for  him  ;  and  ef  he's  obstropulous,  and  won't 
let  me  manage  for  him,  don't  you  see,  I'll  hev'  to  slip  a  knife 
into  his  windbag  {  Now  that's  the  work  that  you  don't  love 
to  do,  and  that's  the  very  work  I'm  best  up  to ;  and  it's  hard 
work,  too  ;  and  its  mighty  dangerous  work,  Hafe ;  and  it  makes 
a  man  so  sorry  when  he  has  to  do  it  to  one  of  our  own  people. 
No  !  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  man  what  takes  sich  hard 
work,  and  mighty  resks  on  himself,  has  a  rightful  share  to  jist 
what  he  pleases ;  and  has  the  right  to  give  his  partner,  jist  only 
what's  proper  to  his  small  services.  Now,  you  see,  this  job  of 
carrying  off  the  gal,  I  shares  that  equal  with  you.  'Tain't 
much  to  be  done,  you  see.  Thar's  no  fighting,  only  jest  quick 
catching  and  close  watching.  Well,  I  got  the  job,  and  that's 
about  the  hardest  part  of  it.  Well,  you  takes  the  gal  off,  and 
we  shares  equal  them  ten  guineas ;  and  I  look  to  the  pickings 
of  the  house,  and  I  shares  with  you  handsome,  'cordiri'  to  my 
notions.  And  that's  what  I  thinks  honest  dealings  with  a  part 
ner.  But  I'll  make  you  say  it's  honest.  Look  you,  you  take 
the  gal,  and  you  shill  hev'  six  out  of  the  ten  guineas.  Thar ! 
that's  what  I  calls  handsom.e.  After  that,  there's  no  saying  till 
we  sees'  the  pickings,  what  I  shill  give  you  from  the  guttings 
of  the  house." 

The  Trailer  answered  this  excessive  liberality  of  his  associate 
with  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  It's  jist  like  all  your  dealings,  Dick  :  jist  sich  a  bargain  as 
the  fox  drives  when  he  goes  a  hunting  with  the  cat.  But  we'll 
see.  I  reckon  I  kin  manage  the  gal  easy  enough,  and  I  con 
fess  you  air  best  for  a  skrimmage,  and  for  finding  out  where  the 
good  pickings  air." 

The  superior  will  of  the  ruffian,  as  usual,  coerced  his  com 
panion  into  submission. 

"  Well,  now,  Rafe,  that  being  fixed  and  onderstood  between 
us,  'twill  be  jest  right  now  to  get  ready  to  make  a  spring.  I 
don't  want  any  of  them  lanksided  troopers  to  be  much  ahead 
of  me.  It's  well,  prehaps,  whar  thar's  any  chaince  of  a  skrim 
mage,  to  send  one  or  two  of  'em  ahead  jist  to  draw  the  bullets 
of  the  inimy ;  but  I  reckon  thar's  no  bullets  hyar  to  be  drawn, 
except  Sinclair's,  and  the  cappin  is  more  in  the  way  of  his,  jist 


428  THE   FORAYERS. 

now,  than  anybody  else ;  and  all  the  scuffle  a'tween  them  will 
be  over  afore  we  need  to  put  in.  So  jist  you  follow  me  on4 
through  this  paling-.  We'll  jist  get  on  the  outside,  easy  to  the 
house,  and  easy  to  the  woods.  Whenever  I  goes  into  a  gentle 
man's  parlor,  I  likes  to  keep  the  door  open  behind  me.  Thar 
now,  a  dozen  steps,  and  I  gits  to  the  house  j  hyar  now,  at  my 
back,  is  the  woods ;  and,  yonder,  about  a  hundred  yards,  is  the 
horses.  You  see  ?" 

"  All  right,  I  reckon  !    It's  a  good  place  I  think  for  ossevation." 

"  Good ;  it's  the  only  place  !  Here  we're  ready  for  jest  any 
thing  what  happens.  13ut  they're  mighty  slow.  Hah  !  what's 
that  ?  a  shot !  two  shots  !  Willie  Sinclair's  giving  the  fellows 
his  lead !  But  pistols  can't  do  much  in  any  man's  hands  with 
hafe  a  dozen  fellows  on  him." 

"  There  goes  another — bang !" 

"  And  another  !     and  thar's   a  bugle  blast." 

"  That's  not  for  us  !  Hello  !  what's  the  trouble  now  ?  what's 
them  horses  we  hears  ?  It's  a  troop  !" 

"A  rush,  by  jingoes!  A  troop  of  dragoons  at  full  speed, 
down  the  avenue.  Gimini !  they're  St.  Julien's  men.  Hell  and 
blisters!  won't  these  fellows  catch  it!  Whar's  the  cappin  ? 
v.'liar's  Fry?  whar's  anybody,  to  hold  up  these  fellows  and 
make  'em  face  about  handsome !  Grim !  I  must  bring  'em 
nbout,  square  up  to  the  music,  or  they'll  be  smashed  to  pieces 
in  a  twinkle." 

And  Dick  of  Tophet  drew  his  sabre,  and  was  rushing  out  to 
the  area,  where  the  loyalists  were  beginning  confusedly  to  show 
their  consciousness  of  the  new  danger,  when  the  Trailer  caught 
his  arm,  and  dragged  him  back  into  cover. 

"  What  air  you  about,  Dick  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  ?"  pulling  away  from  his  companion.  "  These 
chaps  will  be  smashed  etarnally  to  pieces,  and  nobody  to  show 
'em  what  to  do  !" 

"And  kin  you  help  'em  —  kin  anybody  help  'em  now? 
Don't  you  see  the  broadsword  is  writ  on  every  one  of  theii 
necks.  They're  cotch'd  napping,  on  their  haunches,  and  will 
never  make  a  rise.  Thar  the  fellows  come  with  a  whoop  !" 

"  Thunder  and  smoke  !  I  kain't  look  at  it,  and  do  nothing  !" 
and  Dick  of  Tophet.  as  lie  spoke,  would  have  broken  away 


HOW   HENRY    TRAVIS   FARED.  429 

from  the  grasp  of  the  Trailer,  but  that  the  other  held  on  firmly, 
and  drew  him  further  back  into  the  thicket,  in  spite  of  his 
struggles. 

"  You're  a  fool,  after  all,  Joel  Andrews  !  You  kain't  do  no 
good.  You  kain't  save  them  fellows  !  They're  gone  !  Thar ! 
don't  you  see !  They're  melted  fairly  under  the  rush.  Half 
a  dozen  saddles  emptied,  and  the  rest  scudding  round  the  house 
with  the  dragoons  after  them!  Hark!  thar's  another  rush! 
Hafe  of  them  dashing  up  the  avenue !" 

"And  the  dragoons  after  them!  Who's  that?  Thunder! 
It's  Willie  Sinclair,  himself,  as  I'm  a  born  sinner !  He's  in  the 
saddle!  Whar  kin  the  cappin  be?  Whar's  Inglehardt?  None 
thar  but  Sinclair !  Thar !  you  hear  him  shouting !  Now, 
whar's  the  fellow,  in  all  that  squad,  to  face  about  and  taste  his 
broadsword  ?  Oh  !  ef  I  only  had  a  good  ducking  gun  to  draw 
sight  on  him  now,  Avith  fifteen  pelters  in  the  barrel !" 

"  Don't  stop  to  talk,  Dick.  The  time  for  us  is  gone.  No 
pickings  at  that  house  to-day  !  Back  !  they'll  see  you  !  Look 
at  them  scattered  fellows.  They're  making  for  the  woods  hyar, 
and  will  bring  the  dragoons  upon  us.  Now's  the  time  to  snake 
away  to  the  horses.  Thar's  no  chaince,  ef  we  stay.  These 
fellows  kain't  hold  up ;  they're  too  raw ;  they  don't  know  now 
but  that  thar  heads  air  all  off.  In !  to  the  thicket,  Dick,  or 
you're  a  gone  coon !  The  troopers  air  a-coming," 

And,  seizing  upon  the  arm  of  his  reluctant  companion,  whose 
hope  of  pickings  at  Holly-Dale,  was,  for  the  present,  effectually 
extinguished  by  this  unexpected  visitation,  he  drew  him  along 
with  him  into  cover,  both  pushing  on  beside  the  rear  of  the 
garden  fence,  and  toward  the  thicket  behind  the  dairy  where 
their  horses  had  been  fastened. 

Dick  of  Tophet  groaned  as  he  went :  "  Sich  a  fine  chaince 
cut  up  by  these  bloody  rascals  !  Oh  !  gimini !  thar's  no  hon 
est  chainces  left  for  a  poor  fellow  in  the  world  !" 

"  Don't  stop  to  grunt !     You  hear.     They're  a-coming." 

The  fugitives  were  dashing,  pell-mell,  into  the  woods  below, 
the  cover  of  the  swamp  affording  them  the  best  prospect  of 
refuge.  The  policy  of  the  Trailer  was  to  keep  aloof  from  their 
course:  "Keep  up  above  a  bit  —  these  runaway  rascals  will 
bring  the  dragoons  upon  us." 


430  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  Not  too  high  !  Thar's  the  thick  where  the  nags  are  fast 
ened." 

"  Yes,  but  let  us  stretch  up  a  leetth  and  work  round  it.  It's 
too  open  hyar  to  strike  right  straight." 

"  They're  a  coming  this  way  !     Hark  !" 

"  It's  hut  one  horse,  I'm  a  thinking." 

"  It's  one  of  our  people,  perhaps." 

"  No  !  it's  a  blasted  boy  !  He  sees  us  !  The  kitten  !  He's 
a  whooping  at  us !  Ha  !  a  pistol-shot !  Pop  !  another  !  A 
tree  !  a  tree,  Rafe!" 

And,  verily,  the  young  trooper,  for  whom  Dick  of  Tophet 
and  his  companion  now  prepared  themselves,  was  no  other  than 
our  missing  boy,  Henry  Travis.  His  quick  eye  had  detected 
the  two  outlaws,  at  the  very  moment  when  they  skulked  out  of 
the  foreground,  making  into  the  upper  woods ;  while  the  fugi 
tives  generally  struck  for  the  lower  thickets,  which  led  directly 
to  the  swamp.  While  the  dragoons  dashed  after  the  latter, 
Henry,  without  ever  pausing  to  ask  if  he  was  followed,  or 
accompanied,  started  off,  in  a  smart  canter,  in  pursuit  of  the 
two.  Shouting  to  them  to  halt  and  yield,  he  emptied  his  pis 
tols  as  he  rode  —  ineffectually  —  while  Devil  Dick  and  the 
Trailer,  separating,  dodged  behind  several  trees,  but  within 
supporting  distance  of  each  other. 

"  The  barking  puppy.  Surrinder  to  sich  as  him  /"  muttered 
Dick  of  Tophet.  Then,  as  the  boy  came  dashing  on,  he  sprang 
out  from  his  tree,  caught  the  bridle  of  the  steed  in  his  grasp,  and 
wheeled  the  animal  right  about,  backing  him  among  the  bushes. 
Henry  boldly  hurled  his  pistol  at  his  head ;  but  this,  though 
well-aimed,  the  assailant  dodged  with  great  dexterity ;  already 
had  the  boy  lifted  the  other  pistol,  resolutely  intending  not 
again  to  miss,  when  a  blow  from  the  Trailer  behind,  knocked 
him  from  his  horse,  and  covered  one  side  of  his  face  with  blood. 
When  the  youth  became  fully  conscious,  after  this  stunning 
blow,  it  was  because  of  the  smart  motion  of  the  horse  which 
bore  him,  closely  grasped  in  the  arms  of  his  captor,  and  mov 
ing  rapidly  through  an  open  pine  thicket,  which  his  dulled 
faculties  —  for  he  was  still  in  a  state  of  stupor  frtorri  the  blow 
— failed  to  recognise  as  a  tract  belonging  *o  his  father's  plan 
tation. 


THE   SORE   STRAIT  — THE    HOT   TRAIL --CAPTIVITY 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

YHE    SORE    STRAIT THE    HOT    TRAIL CAPTIVITY. 

THE  cool,  sturdy,  experienced  habits  of  Dick  of  Tophet  and 
his  companion,  the  Trailer,  enabled  them  to  make  off  successfully, 
carrying  with  them  not  only  their  own,  but  the  horses  of 
their  captain,  and  that  of  Henry  Travis.  These  two  horses 
were  led  by  the  Trailer,  while  Dick  bore  away  their  captive, 
as  we  have  seen,  upon  his  own  steed.  They  moved  off  with 
sufficient  deliberation,  in  a  walk  at  first,  so  that  no  unnecessary 
clatter  should  reach  the  ears  of  any  hostile  party-— took  a  cir 
cuitous  course,  which  carried  them  almost  within  sight  of  the 
main  road,  upon  which,  however,  they  were  careful  not  to  show 
themselves  ;  and,  having  reached  a  point  sufficiently  remote,  they 
started  off  in  a  smart  canter,  wherever  the  thickets  would  allow 
of  it,  rounding  gradually  down,  toward  the  swamp,  and  in  the 
direction  of  the  bay,  where  it  had  been  arranged  that  the  whole 
party  should  rendezvous.  In  this  progress  they  were  totally 
unpursued.  The  natural  direction  taken  by  fugitives  and  pur 
suers  alike,  was  toward  the  swamp  recesses.  The  sagacity  of 
the  old  troopers  assured  them  that  such  would  be  the  probable 
course  of  both  parties,  and  their  senses  confirmed  the  conjec 
ture.  But  for  this,  and  had  Sinclair,  the  moment  his  victory 
was  made  sure,  turned  into  the  woods  with  his  whole  troop, 
there  is  little  doubt  that  the  outlaws  would  have  been  com 
pelled  to  abandon  their  prisoner,  in  order  to  effect  their  own 
escape,  and  even  then  they  would  scarce  have  succeeded  in  the 
latter  object.  There  is  a  farther  probability,  however,  that, 
forced  to  release  their  captive,  they  Avould  first  have  brained 
him.  Neither  of  them  was  much  inclined  to  burden  himself 
with  prisoners,  and,  but  for  the  selfish  speculations  of  the  least 
merciful  of  the  two,  our  young  volunteer  would  have  found  his 
first  field  his  last.  Brunson,  the  Trailer,  was  for  despatching 


4°  2  THE  FORAYERS. 

him,  in  the  very  moment  when  he  knocked  him  off  his  horse 
hut  Dick  of  Tophet  resisted. 

"  No  !  no  !  Rafe ;  the  lad's  worth  his  weight  in  goiild  to  us 
F  reckon." 

"  I  don't  see  how.  Your  gould  speckilations,  Dick,  don't 
(urn  out  so  well  in  the  eend  as  you  says  at  the  beginning.  Ef 
we're  to  carry  that  lark  along  with  us,  '.he  chaince  is  that  we'll 
hardly  git  off  with  whole  bones  ourselves." 

"  Oh  !  I  reckon  we  sliill.  You  see  the  cliase  takes  down  for 
'he  swamp.  Nobody  seed  us  slipping  off  up  here,  but  this 
young  cocksparrow,  and  it  warn't  lucky  for  him  that  he  did. 
Hyar,  now,  gi's  a  hand,  and  sling  him  up  to  my  crupper.  I'll 
take  him  easy  enough  tell  he  kin  raise  his  own  head.  It's  a 
heavy  clip  you've  gi'n  him." 

"  I  reckon  the  skull's  cracked,"  was  the  reply,  as  they  raised 
the  boy  across  the  saddle.  "  Ef  so,  thar's  no  great  use  in  toting 
him.  Better  throw  him  off,  and  let's  put  him  out  of  his  pain." 

"  Grim  !  no  !  I  tell  you  thar's  gould  to  come  out  of  that  boy's 
hide.  The  cappin  will  pay  for  his  carkiss,  dead  or  alive  ;  and, 
ef  he  gits  over  that  crack  of  yourn,  his  dad's  able  to  pay  smart 
ly.  He's  as  rich  as  a  Jew." 

"  He's  not  a-breathing,  Dick." 

"  Yes !  It's  only  a  swound  he's  in.  I  reckon  such  a  lick 
over  your  head  or  mine,  would  have  put  us  in  a  swound  too. 
Bear  up.  Thar  !  that  will  do.  Now  mount  yourself  and  bring 
on  the  horses.  We  must  push  for  the  bay." 

"  But  you  don't  reckon  to  find  anybody  thar !  And  whar's 
the  cappin  all  this  time  ?" 

"  I  reckon  he's  fast  lock'd  up  in  the  arms  of  keptivity.  But 
we  kin  buy  him  out,  with  this  boy  and  his  dad.  Push  on  now, 
;md  recollect  you've  got  to  pick  him  up.  Ef  nobody  comes  to 
the  rendezvous  by  midnight,  we  must  git  across  the  river  some 
how,  and  that  too  without  going  down  to  the  village.  I  reckon 
that'll  be  the  place  where  Willie  Sinclair  will  be  pushing,  as 
soon  as  he  gits  his  troopers  all  in  hand  after  this  chase.  It'll 
be  no  place  for  us.  We  must  git  across  the  river  without  going 
down  to  the  village,  even  ef  we  has  to  swim  the  horses." 

"  And  I  wonder  how  you're  to  carry  Cappin  Travis  and  thii 
chap  across,  on  swimming  horses  ?" 


THE  SORE   STRAIT  —  THE   HOT   TRAIL --CAPTIVITY.     433 

"  Wliar  thar's  a  will  thar's  a  way,  ftafe  !  But  we  must  sarch 
for  a  dugout.  I  reckon  I  kin  find  one  in  and  about  Four-Mile 
creek.  At  the  worst,  we  kin  leave  the  prisoners  behind,  ef  we 
find  that  we're  pressed  too  hard." 

And,  thus  communing,  they  rode  —  the  powerful  arms  of 
Dick  of -Tophet  sustaining  the  still  insensible  boy,  slung  like  a 
dead  body  across  his  saddle,  and  Branson  following  as  close  as 
he  could  with  the  two  led  horses.  All  this  while,  the  troopers 
of  Sinclair  were  fruitlessly  pressing  down  into  the  swamp  fast 
nesses  after  the  half  dozen  fugitives,  who  had  sought  refuge 
there.  And  this  search  was  the  loss  of  a  great  deal  of  precious 
time.  Joel  Andrews  and  his  comrade,  with  their  captive,  had 
readied  the  bay  where  the  boy's  father  had  been  fettered,  long 
before  the  lights  began  to  gleam  in  the  distant  woods,  from  the 
torches  of  Sinclair's  troop,  now  all  on  the  trail,  beating  the 
woods  from  the  main  road  to  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  in  search 
of  the  missing  boy. 

Before  our  fugitives  reached  this  point,  Henry  Travis  began 
to  recover.  His  groans,  followed  by  a  struggle  to  raise  him 
self  upon  the  saddle,  apprized  Dick  of  Tophet  of  his  returning 
life  and  senses. 

"He'll  do!"  he  muttered.  "Well,  my  lad,  what  do  you 
want?" 

"  Lift  me  up,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it'll  be  easier  to  both  of  us  if  you  do  set  upon 
your  own  haunches  a  little." 

And  he  stopped  his  horse,  and  gave  the  boy  the  necessary 
assistance,  which  raised  him  upon  the  saddle,  sitting  with  both 
legs  upon  the  same  side  of  the  horse,  after  the  fashion  of  female 
equestrians. 

"  Thar  you  are,  my  little  kurnel ;  and,  now,  how  do  you 
feel  ?" 

"  Feel  1" 

"  Ay  !  that's  what  I  axes.  How  do  you  feel  ?  Hev'  you 
got  any  aches  and  pains  in  preticklar  1  A  leetle  sore  about  the 
head,  I  reckon,  and  a  leetle  stiffish  in  the  j'ints.  You  ain't 
been  a-riding  jest  as  you've  been  used  to  ride,  I  reckon." 

"My  head  !  my  head  !"  murmured  the  boy. 

"  I  reckon  it's  a  leetle  on  easy.     It's  an  onnateral  headache 


434  THE    FORAYERS. 

you've  got,  cotcli'd  from  a  graze  agin  the  butteend  of  a  pistol 
You  see,  my  leetle  cocksparrow,  if  such  young  birds  as  you  will 
go  into  a  skrimmage,  it's  but  nateral  you  should  catch  some 
sore  throats  and  sore  heads,  and  sore  shins,  and  be  sore  for  a 
long  spell  a'ter  it.  But,  you'll  be  better  by  to-morrow.  A 
leetle  pine-gum  plaister  on  that  head  of  yourn  will  stop  up  the 
sore  places." 

The  boy  murmured : — 

"  Won't  you  let  me  down  ?     I  must  go  to  mother." 

"  No  !  no  !  Your  mammy  don't  want  to  see  you  tell  you  gits 
better ;  but  I'll  carry  you  to  your  daddy.  He's  a-waiting  for 
you  now." 

The  boy  was  silent — not  so  much  because  he  was  satisfied 
with  this  assurance,  but  really  in  consequence  of  returning  stu 
por.  But  he  still  kept  erect  upon  the  saddle,  the  arm  of  his 
captor  circling  him  with  its  great  muscles,  and  the  horse  pres 
sing  forward  now  at  a  canter.  Henry  saw  that  he  was  going 
through  a  pine-forest,  with  no  great  undergrowth,  but  his 
senses  were  quite  too  much  dulled  for  observation.  When 
the  party  approached  the  bay,  Dick  of  Tophet  said  to  his 
companion : — 

"  You  kin  stop  and  see  after  the  prisoner,  I'll  push  down 
toward  the  creek.  We  must  keep  the  two  sep'rate  jest  now. 
When  you  hears  my  horn,  bring  your  coon  down  to  the  creek 
as  well  as  you  kin.  You  kin  loose  his  legs  and  make  him  walk 
it,  at  the  p'int  of  the  bagnet.  He  may  need  a  stick  or  two,  of 
your  knife,  to  make  him  sensible  which  road  he's  to  take." 

Dick  rode  on  half  a  mile  farther,  and  was  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  creek,  when  he  heard  a  whistle  which  he  answered. 
Suddenly,  a  man  emerged  from  the  thicket. 

"  What's  ripe  ?"  demanded  the  trooper. 

"  Corn  in  mutton !"  was  the  answer,  in  the  deliberate  tones 
of  Inglehardt. 

"Gimini!  You — your  own  self,  cappin?  Why,  how  did 
you  git  off  and  git  here  so  soon  ?" 

A  few  words  sufficed  for  answer. 

"  Who  have  you  got  here  ?" 

"  A  prisoner !  The  young  cub  of  the  old  wolf.  Jest  no 
other  pusson  than  Travis's  son." 


THE   SORE   STRAIT  —  THE   HOT  TRAIL  —  CAPTIVITY.    435 

"Ha!  ha!  father  and  son  — eh?  Weil,  they  may  bring  the 
daughter  yet.  Bring  the  boy  down  to  the  creek  — put  him  at  once 
into  the  dugout,  and  take  him  across  the  river.  Rope  him  and 
leave  him  there.  Bring  back  the  boat  as  soon  as  possible.  It  will 
take  us  three  trips  to  get  the  party  over." 

But  Henry  Travis,  now  on  his  legs,  resisted  the  tender  entreaties 
of  Dick  of  Tophet. 

"Let  me  go.  I'm  no  prisoner.  Isn't  that  Captain  Ingle- 
hardt  ?" 

He  had  distinguished  the  voice  of  the  latter,  though  he  had  failed 
to  discover  more  than  the  outline  of  his  person.  Inglehardt  walked 
away  taking  no  notice  of  the  speech. 

'No  matter  who  it  is,  my  lark,  as  for  being  a  prisoner,  who  says 
you  is  ?  You're  only  a  young  gentleman  on  a  visit  to  his  friends, 
whom  they're  a  taking  care  of.  That's  the  how  :  so  come  along 
with  me,  and  don't  be  giving  us  the  trouble  to  pick  you  up  roughly 
to  lay  you  straight." 

And  he  laid  hands  on  the  boy  to  haul  him  forward.  But  the 
gallant  lad  jerked  himself  free,  wheeled  about,  and  having  no 
weapon  but  his  fist,  planted  a  blow  in  the  breast  of  the  other,  which 
was  quite  creditable,  for  aim  as  well  as  force,  to  so  young  a 
bruiser. 

"Ha!  you're  at  that,  air  you,"  answered  the  ruffian,  returning 
the  blow  as  he  spoke,  and  felling  the  poor  boy  as  if  under  the 
weight  of  a  sledge-hammer. 

"  Don't  hurt  him,  if  you  can  help  it,"  said  Inglehardt  returning 
for  a  moment.  "  But  don't  let  him  escape  you." 

4 'That  he  won't;  but  the  young  cock's  game.  Ef  ever  he  lives 
to  git  his  spurs  he'll  rash  somebody's  sides  yit." 

Thus  speaking,  he  lifted  up  the  bay  and  carrying  him  without 
seeming  effort  to  the  creek,  laid  him  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
du»  out,  which  he  at  once  pushed  away  from  the  shore.  Seizing 
upon  one  paddle,  while  the  negro  boy  Julius  plied  the  other, 
he  was  not  long  in  making  his  way  to  the  main  stream,  and  still  less 
time  getting  across.  Here,  having  taken  out  his  captive,  he  corded 
his  arms  and  feet  securely,  and  left  him,  under  cover,  upon  the 
opposite  banks.  He  then  put  back  with  all  speed  for  the  creek, 
and  arrived  just  at  the  moment  when  the  Trailer  had  brought 
down  the  four  horses  to  the  water. 


436  THE  FORAYER& 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  the  prisoner,  and  leave  the  hore»g  tc 
the  last  ?"  demanded  Inglehardt. 

"  He's  right,  cappin.  We've  got  the  boy,  and  that's  soxnfv 
lliing  even  if  we  lose  the  daddy.  As  for  the  horses,  we  kic 
uever  do  without  them,  wherever  we  go,  and  there's  no  telling 
whar  to  git  others,  ef  we  lose  these.  We  must  put  them  over 
at  once." 

Two  horses  swimming  "beside  the  canoe,  were  all  that  the 
boy  Julius  could  manage.  Two  trips  were  required  accord 
ingly  for  the  transfer  of  the  beasts  to  the  opposite  side.  Thi« 
consumed  no  little  time,  and  was  not  a  little  wearisome  to  our 
Dick  of  Tophet,  strong  man  as  he  was.  When  he  recrossed  a 
third  time  to  his  superior,  he  found  the  loyalist  captain  not  a 
little  anxious  for  his  coming. 

"  You  were  long  that  trip,  Dick,  very  long." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  ef  I  hev'  much  more  of  sich  work  to  do 
to-night,  I'll  git  longer  and  longer,  untell  I  snap  right  off  in  the 
middle." 

"  Don't  talk  of  breaking  down  yet,  my  good  fellow.  That 
will  do  when  we  are  all  quite  safe  on  t'other  side.  The  Trail 
er's  slow.  What  can  keep  him." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he's  pretty  well  wore  out  like  myself,  and  I 
spose  old  Travis  won't  do  nothing  for  himself,  and  the  Trailer  '11 
hev'  to  prick  him  along  with  the  small  eend  of  a  knife,  as  . 
tell'd  him.  We  hain't  got  much  time  to  lose,  that's  mighty 
sartin." 

Inglehardt  strode  up  and  down  with  a  degree  of  impatience,, 
clearly  expressed ;  which  was  a  very  unusual  exhibition  with 
him.  He  had  need  to  be  anxious.  By  this  time  the  signs  and 
sounds  of  pursuit  were  to  be  heard  from  above.  A  mile  ahead, 
the  gleam  of  torches  was  to  be  seen,  fitfully  crossing  through 
the  woods.  The  hunt  was  up.  The  hunters  were  approaching, 
They  could  even  hear  the  distant  tread  of  the  horse,  and  now 
and  then  a  shout  from  the  distant  troopers  announced  sonr»r 
discovery. 

Yet,  the  Trailer  had  not  brought  down  his  prisoner  fiom  the 
lay.  Inglehardt  was  impatient. 

*'  TVy  will  be  upon  us  before  we  can  get  him  off.  By  heav 
er  s'  I  hear  dogs.  Do  you  not?  If  there  are  dogs,  we  are  lost." 


THE  SORE  ST3AIT  —  THE    HOT   TRAIL — CAPTIVITY.       43'i 

Devil  Dick  stooped  to  listen. 

"  I  don't  hear  tlie  dogs.  I  reckon  they've  got  none.  Er 
they  hed  they'd  ha'  been  down  upon  us  long  before.  They 
never  would  have  kept  the  straight  track  down  through  tho 
woods  when  we  never  iome  that  way.  No !  I  don't  reckon 
they've  got  dogs.  But  they're  a  coming  on  jist  as  fast  as  cf 
they  had.  'T wouldn't  do  to  push  up  and  see  after  the  Trailer 
now,  for  I  see  a  light  that  kain't  be  fur  from  the  bay,  and  thar's 
no  saying  how  many  are  a  stalking  softly  in  the  darkness  jes* 
between  where  them  lights  are  a-scattered." 

"  No !  we  must  take  no  such  risk.  D — n  the  fellow,  what 
can  he  be  about  ?" 

"  Aix  him !  He's  a  born  fool  for  anything  but  scouting. 
That  he  kin  do  prime.  I  wonder  whar's  his  sense  to  waste 
time  upon  a  prisoner.  He  had  only  to  slit  his  throat  and  make 
tracks,  ef  so  be  the  fellow  was  troublesome.  And  what's  a 
prisoner  ?  It's  one  thing  to  bring  him  off,  and  so  much  the  bet 
ter  ;  but  it's  a  more  serious  thing  to  bring  one's  self  off,  and 
save  one's  bacon.  Ef  he  don't  come  soon — " 

"  Hark  !     Hush  !     There  is  a  dog,  Dick." 

"  It  sounds  a  leetle  like  !  Look  you,  cappin,  we'd  best  take 
the  boat  and  push  her  out  to  the  river,  we  kin  lie  off  and  listen, 
and  ef  the  Trailer  comes  down  before  the  troopers,  we  kin  take 
him  aboard  jist  as  easy  as  if  we  staid  here,  and  resk'd  our  own 
necks.  He'll  find  the  way  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  for 
he  knows,  if  he's  got  as  much  sense  as  a  groundmole,  that  we're 
a  hanging  off  and  on." 

"  There  goes  a  horse  down  to  the  right." 

"  Yis,  and  another  right  toward  us.  Them  torches  are  this 
side  of  the  bay.  Let's  put  out,  captain.  It's  an  easy  rush  down 
to  where  we  stands." 

"  Yet  I  am  unwilling  to  leave  the  fellow.' 

.  "  Never  you  mind  him.  Thar's  no  fear  of  the  Trailer,  ef  so 
be  he'll  only  cast  off  the  prisoner,  or  lay  him  out,  with  a  sharp 
tooth  jest  where  he  stands:  as  for  us  —  look  you,  cappin,  thar's 
no  time  for  shilly-shally.  They're  a  coming,  by  all  the  pipers, 
and  with  a  rush.  Look  at  all  of  them  torches  a  coming  togeth 
er  and  jest  hear  them  horses." 

He  seized  Inglehardt  by  the  wrist,  and  pulled  him,  still  half 


438  THE   FORAYERS. 

reluctant,  down  to  the  boat.  They  got  in,  and  pushed  her  out 
into  the  deepest  part  of  the  creek,  which,  by  the  way,  just  at 
this  point,  was  barely  deep  enough  to  float  her,  light  and  little 
as  she  was.  The  paddles  were  dipped  carefully,  and  the  dugout 
slipped  forward  without  a  murmur,  her  head  down  to  the  river. 
When  she  reached  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  Inglehardt  took 
hold  of  the  overhanging  branches  of  a  tree,  and  held  fast.  The 
paddles  were  taken  in — they  waited  and  listened. 

Still  they  could  see  the  torches  and  occasionally  hear  the 
tread  of  horses.  It  was  now  quite  evident  that  the  former 
were  flaring  about  not  far  from  the  spot  where  they  had  stood. 

"  We  didn't  put  out  a  moment  too  soon,  cappin." 

"  No  !     They  have  completely  surrounded  the  Trailer." 

"  Ah  !  but  he's  a  raal  mole  for  finding  a  way  out,  and  lying 
close  to  the  airth.  I  reckon  they  ain't  found  him.  We'd  ha' 
hearn  something  of  it  if  they  bed." 

"  Hist !     Thar's  a  troop  in  motion." 

"It's  guine  down.  But  you  see,  thar's  the  lights  still  all 
along  the  edges  of  the  swamp:  I  reckon  Sinclair  divided, 
and  one  hafe  of  his  troop's  pushing  for  the  village,  looking  a'ter 
us,  and  t'other's  beating  the  bushes." 

"  The  torches  are  going  upward.  They're  all  together,  as  if 
in  consultation." 

"  Ay,  I  reckon  they've  gin  it  up  as  a  bad  job.  They  ain't 
found  nothing  to  pay  them  for  the  ile  of  their  joints  that's 
worked  out  to-night." 

"  What !  do  you  think  the  Trailer  has  escaped." 

"  Sure  as  a  gun  !  I  reckon  he's  given  Cappin  Travis  a  touch 
of  cold  steel  and  laid  him  out  under  the  bushes,  and  he's  taken 
a  stretch  alongside  of  him  for  company  sake." 

"  You  don't  suppose  he's  murdered  Travis  ?" 

"  Tain't  murder  in  wartime,  captain,  and  he's  done  it  in  self- 
defence.  Travis  can't  give  tongue,  and  the  Trailer  won't,  and 
they  lie  snug  together  between  some  old  logs.  That's  the  how. 
Ef  they  had  found  the  Trailer,  or  the  cappin,  dead  or  alive, 
wouldn't  they  hev'  given  tongue  in  a  mighty  hellabaloo?  But 
they  hain't,  and  that  makes  me  sure  they  hain't  found  either  of 
'em.  I  reckon,  cappin,  we  might  put  the  nose  of  the  dug-out 
ap  the  creek  again.  By  easy  paddling,  we  can  snake  up,  and 


THE  SORE   STRAIT  —  THE   HOT   TRAIL  —  CAPTIVITY. 

make  no  stir,  to  whar  we  was  a  standing  before.  Then,  if  we 
hears  nothing,  and  them  torches  are  a  gitting  fainter  and  fainter 
I'll  put  out  for  the  bay,  and  see  if  one  old  scout  can  scent  the 
track  of  another.  Rafe  knows  my  whistle,  jist  as  he  knows 
one  bird  from  another. 

"  Very  good.     Put  about." 

And  the  dug-out  was  sent  up  the  creek  again,  and  found  her 
way  to  the  former  position  without  disturbing  any  unfriendly 
echoes. 

During  all  this  while,  Sinclair  and  his  troopers,  as  we  have 
seen,  had  been  busy  brushing  the  forest.  They  had  picked  up 
three  prisoners,  who  readily  submitted  and  joined  the  troop  of 
the  conqueror.  But  the  particular  fugitives  sought  for  had  not 
been  found;  and,  leaving  a  body  of  his  followers,  chiefly  under 
the  guidance  of  Jim  Ballou,  to  scout  while  there  was  any  hope 
of  discovery,  the  major  of  dragoons  pushed  forward  with  all 
speed  to  Oraiigeburg. 

After  waiting  some  time  on  the  movements  of  the  scouting 
party  of  Ballou,  whose  torches  were  still  to  be  seen  occasionally, 
like  so  many  flitting  corpse  candles  through  the  distant  woods, 
Dick  of  Tophet  said  :— 

I  reckon,  cappin,  it'll  be  quite  safe  to  take  a  peep  at  the  bay 
now  and  see  what's  'come  of  the  Trailer." 

"Ay,  we'll  go  together,  Dick." 

"  Better  don't  you,  cappin.  Who  knows  what's  a  squatting 
in  them  woods  a  waiting  to  see  upon  whose  shoulders  it  may 
jump.  It's  easier  for  one  man  to  git  cla'r  of  a  spring  than 
two ;  and  though  two's  better  for  fighting  than  one,  yet  in  a 
scouting  affair  like  this,  one's  safest." 

"  Safe  or  not,  Dick,  I'll  take  a  look  at  the  woods  along  with 
you." 

"  Well,  come  along  :  but  you've  got  no  we'pon  !  Hyar's  a 
.pistol,  one  of  mine.  I've  got  the  pair  of  that  young  catamount 
of  Travis  in  iny  buzzom,  but  they  ain't  loaded." 

"  This  will  do.     Push  ahead." 

"  Close  and  saftly  now,  cappin,"  was  the  prompt  answer,  and 
they  both  entered  the  woods. 

They  moved  cautiously,  and  reached  the  preciiicts  of  the  bay 
without  interruption.  Then  Devil  Dick  whistled — "Jist  you 


t40  THE   FOKAYEIIS. 

see,"  as  he  said,  "  an  insinivating  whistle,  as  if  to  say,  thar's  a 
ittle  friendly  bird  a  hopping  about,  and  he  ells  you  the  hawks 
are  all  gone." 

A  very  few  moments  only  had  elapsed  when  the  xignal  was 
answered,  and  in  five  minutes  more  the  party  in  scare  h  encoun 
tered  the  Trailer  coming  toward  them. 

"  Lord,  Rafe,  how  we  hev'  sweated  for  you." 

"  I  reckon  I've  done  a  pretty  bit  of  sweating  for  myself,  old 
fellow,  jist  from  thinking  of  the  hug  of  the  black  bear  that  was 
a  looking  a'ter  me.  More  than  once  I  thought  I  had  his  very 
paws  upon  me.  But  a  miss  is  good  as  a  mile,  and  the  sweat's 
gone  off  with  the  danger.  I  was  jist  awaiting  to  be  sure  that 
all  was  safe  afore  I  ventured  out  to,  look  a'ter  you.  I  didn't  • 
dare  to  risk  the  signal,  'till  I  had  snaked  all  round  and  a'tween 
the  bay  and  the  creek." 

"  You  have  had  a  narrow  chaince,  Brunson." 

"  Well  —  it's  true  —  I  hev' — but  you  see,  cappin,  ef  a  man  has 
the  experience  and  the  sense,  and  ain't  scary,  but  kin  jist  lie 
cool  and  wait  his  time,  thar's  hardly  any  chaince  so  narrow 
that  a  small  sizeable  man  kain't  squeeze  through.  I  would  hev' 
got  to  you  long  before  the  troopers  worked  down  on  the  trail 
hyar,  if  it  'twarn't  for  that  denied  troublesome  prisoner  that 
you  give  me  to  bring  along." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  him  ]"  demanded  Inglehardt 
somewhat  anxiously. 

"  Stowed  him  close  away — " 

"Hed  to  knife  him,  Rafe  —  ehf 

"  You  have  not  killed  him,  Brunson  ?" 

"  No,  cappin — but  I  come  mighty  nigh  to  doing  it.  A  leetlo 
more  and  and  I  had  done  it.  As  'twas,  I  made  out  by  giving 
him  a  tickle  of  cold  steel,  now  and  then,  in  the  throat  aiid 
sides." 

"Is  he  much  hurt ?" 

"No,  I  reckon  not — only  a  little  sorish  where  I  tickled  him, 
and  from  a  hard  jam  which  I  had  to  give  him  under  long  tim 
ber,  with  my  weight  screwed  into  his  carcass." 

The  Trailer  was  allowed  to  detail  his  adventures  seriatim, 
We  shall  condense  his  narrative  to  our  limits. 

Very  much  delaj  ed  as  he  Lad   been  in  bringing  down  th« 


THE   SORE   STRAIT  —  THE    HOT   TRAIL CAPTIVITY.      441 

horses  and  providing  for  their  transfer  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river,  the  Trailer,  \vhen  he  returned  to  his  prison,  found  the 
distance  between  his  position  at  the  bay,  and  that  of  the  scout 
ing  party  of  Sinclair  very  much  -lessened.  This  required  the 
utmost  decision,  and  the  most  prompt  movement,  in  order  to 
effect  his  object.  Besides,  greatly  fatigued  as  he  had  been  by 
his  previous  exertions,  it  demanded  an  extraordinary  effort  of 
will  and  energy  to  bring  himself  to  any  farther  tasks.  But  the 
old  scout  and  soldier  is  usually  capable  of  these  extraordinary 
efforts,  and  the  Trailer  set  about  his  labors  with  sufficient  re 
solves  for  his  purpose.  He  untied  the  legs  of  Travis,  and  bade 
him  walk.  But  Travis  showed  himself  reluctant  to  do  anything 
which  could  contribute  U>  the  prolongation  of  his  captivity. 
He  beheld  the  torches  of  the  hunters,  and  he  heard  the  tramp- 
lings  of  their  horses.  He  divined  their  object,  and  readily 
conjectured  the  whole  history  of  Inglehardt's  defeat  at  Holly- 
Dale,  very  much  as  we  have  been  able  to  report.  He  was  slow, 
therefore,  to  obey  the  requisitions  of  the  Trailer,  and  with  such 
near  promise  of  succor.  But  he  felt  too  entirely  at  the  merc^ 
of  the  fellow  still,  and  knew  too  well  how  reckless  of  humax 
life  were  all  such  persons  at  such  moments,  and  he  forebore 
open  opposition,  and  aimed  only  to  delay  a  progress  which  he 
could  not  avowedly  withstand.  At  first  he  concluded  to  try  if 
his  custodian  was  corruptible.  He  offered  him  a  liberal  reward 
in  money,  to  be  paid  him  as  soon  as  he  could  get  back  to  Holly- 
Dale.  Twenty  guineas  was  a  sum  to  dazzle  the  imagination  of 
the  scout  under  ordinary  conditions,  and  the  sum  promised  was 
increased  to  thirty.  But  the  Trailer,  not  being  a  whit  more 
virtuous  than  his  neighbors,  yet  acknowledged  certain  laws  and 
obligations.  He  was  very  much  afraid,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
of  Dick  of  Tophet,  his  companion,  to  whom  he  ascribed  fearful 
powers,  and  whose  close  neighborhood  he  was  ir.clined  to  sus 
pect.  He  was  also  sensible  that  he  should  establish  a  large 
claim  upon  Inglehardt  by  his  fidelity  in  this  very  work  in  hand. 
Besides,  he  was  a  believer  in  the  British  crown,  and  in  the 
potent  sufficiency  of  the  army  of  George  the  Third,  to  effect 
the  permanent  conquest  of  the  country.  Whatever  were  the 
considerations  moving  him  to  a  virtuous  resistance  to  the  bribe 
offered  —  and  we  confess  our  inability  to  say  or  to  conjecture 

19* 


THE    FORAYERS. 

precisely  what  they  were  — it  is  enougl  to  know  that  he  ic 
jected  the  tempting  rewards  offered  by  his  captive — twenty 
thirty,  forty,  and  finally,  fifty  guineas  — larger  amounts  than  he 
had  ever  been  possessed  of,  were  thus  rejected  with  the  con- 
•stancy  of  patriot  virtue.  This,  at  least,  was  his  own  story  to 
Inglehardt.  We  are  at  liberty  to  believe  it  or  not,  as  we  please. 
He  may  have  lied  in  this  particular,  and  his  policy  might  be 
simply  to  establish,  in  Inglehardt's  mind,  a  true  notion  of  the 
value  of  his  services,  by  a  reference  to  the  sum  which  the  op 
posite  party  was  willing  to  pay  for  his  escape. 

Finding  his  bribes  unavailing,  and  the  troopers  of  Sinclair 
rapidly  approaching,  Travis  changed  his  tactics  and  doggedly 
refused  to  walk. 

"  With  that,"  said  the  Trailer,  "  I  out  with  my  knife  and  put 
it  to  his  throat.     '  Now,'  says  I,  '  go,  or  I'll  cut  away  !     Says 
he — '  You  may  cut  me  to  pieces  but  I'll  not  walk  a  step  !    That 
riled  me.     At  first  I  thought  to  pick  him  up,  and  take  him  off 
bodily  upon  my  shoulders.     But,  Lord,  I  was  jest  then  hardly 
able  to  carry  myself,  and  felt  a  most  like  lying  down  and  letting 
the  troopers  do  what  they  would  with  me.     But  I  was  riled, 
and  I  tickled  him  about  the  chin  and  throat,  and  he  seed  I  was 
getting  the  hair  up,  and  he  took  a  few  steps  for'a'd.     But  then 
he  stopped  short  agin,  and  so  I  put  the  knife,  I  reckon  half  an 
inch  deep  into  his  haunches.     That  sent  him  for'a'd  a  leetle 
further,  but  jest  then,  hearing  a  shout,  and  seeing  as  how  the 
torches  was  a  coming  on  pretty  fast,   he  stopped  again,  and 
swore  he'd  not  go  a  peg  further ;  and  he  threatened  me  with  all 
sorts  of  hangings,  and  burnings,  and  whippings,  and  what  not,  ef 
I  didn't  wheel  about  and  march  with  him  into  the  inimy's  camp  ; 
and  he  then  offered  me  his  fifty  guineas  again,  ef  I'd  do  as  he 
wanted  me.     Jest  then,  I  looked  about  me,  and  I  seed  the 
torches  coming  down  mighty  fast,  and  I  heard  the  horses'  feet 
heavy  on  the  airth,  and  I  seed  that  ef  he  kept  me  shilly-shally, 
going  a  bit  and  stopping  another,  that  he'd  git  off,  and  git  me 
into  the  halter  besides,  and  so  I  seed  that  I  had  one  way  only 
—  and  jest  then  he  got  preticklarly  bold  and  sassy,  and  I  got 
more  and  more  riled.     I  sweated  like  a  bull  in  fly-time.     So  I 
jes-t  looked   at  him  a  moment,  and  says  I  'You  won't  go* — and 
says  he  :No,  I  won't  move  a  peg' — and  jest  as  he  said  it,  I 


THE  SORE   STRAIT  —  THE   HOT   TRAIL  —  CAPTIVITY.      443 

jumped  on  him  full,  and  all  spread  out;  and  I  brought  him 
down  to  the  airth,  jest  alongside  of  this  great  pine  and  by  the 
old  Har.icane  track,  and,  snake  or  no  snake,  I  rolled  him  up, 
close  agin  the  sides  of  the  tree,  with  his  face  out,  and  I  stretched 
myself  down  alongside  of  him,  face  in,  and  I  fixed  my  knife  at 
his  throat,  and  I  clapped  my  handkcher  upon  his  mouth,  and  I 
said  to  him,  softly  through  my  shet  teeth,  '  Now,  look  you,  ef 
you  don't  lie  close,  and  keep  still,  by  the  etarnal  fires,  I'll  slash 
your  oozen  [weasand]  jest  as  quick  as  I  would  that  of  a  fat 
shote  in  December.  And  so  I  had  him,  the  tree  fastening  him 
along  the  back  from  head  to  heel,  my  knees  agin  him  in  front, 
my  body  agin  his  body,  my  face  to  his  face,  my  handkcher  on 
his  mouth,  and  rny  knife  agin  his  throat." 

"  Grim  !  That  was  a  sarcumvention  !  eh  !  cappin  !"  ex 
claimed  -Dick  of  Toplict  in  admiration.  Inglehardt  said  noth 
ing,  and  the  Trailer  proceeded. 

"  So  I  lied  him  pretty  sure,  and  he  felt  it.  And  he  lay  quiet 
enough,  though  the  torches  flared  out  a'most  alongside  —  and 
I  jest  let  him  feel  the  tickle  of  the  knife  p'int  now  and  then, 
to  keep  him  sensible ;  but  one  time,  one  fellow  jumped  his 
horse  clean  over  the  logs  and  his  hind  feet  lighted  down,  I 
reckon,  not  three  feet  above  my  head.  Then  I  felt  him  twist 
about  and  try  to  shake  his  mouth  free  from  my  handkcher,  but  I 
put  my  knees  into  him,  and  I  scraped  his  throat  a  leetle  with  the 
knife,  and  he  sung  small  like  a  child  that  smells  the  hickories 
over  the  chimney-place.  And  thar  he  is — jest  as  quiet  as 
ever — only  mighty  sore  about  the  keel  and  upper  timbers,  I 
reckon,  and  with  jest  sech  a  taste  of  my  knife,  as  will  sarre  his 
palate  for  the  next  twenty  years. 

In  a  moment,  Dick  of  Tophet  was  engaged*in  the  agreeable 
task  of  pulling  out  the  captive  from  that  durance  vile,  in  which 
he  had  been  so  judiciously  tickled  into  silence.  He  was  extri 
cated,  quietly  submitted,  helped  himself  to  rise,  but  said  noth 
ing.  His  condition  could  not  well  be  discerned,  as  the  party 
bad  no  light. 

"  Can  you  walk,  Captain  Travis  ?"  demanded  Inglehardt. 

"Yes!" 

"Lead  him  along  —  to  the  boat." 

Sore,  indeed,  suffering  pain  of  body  and  of  mind,  but  stem 


44-1  THE  FORAYERS. 

of  soul,  and  in  some  degree  triumphant  of  soul  as  he  felt  surt 
of  the  escape  of  his  family,  of  Hutledge  and  Sinclair  —  Travis 
was  resigned  to  his  fate.  He,  at  least,  would  yield  no  triumph 
to  his  captor.  He  little  dreamed  of  the  pangs  yet  in  reserve 
for  him ;  and  moved  forward,  with  a  stern  calmness  of  de 
meanor  to  the  creek  between  Devil  Dick  and  the  Trailer,  though 
every  step  was  taken  in  pain,  and  his  whole  body  seemed  in  a 
very  flame  of  fever. 


DOUBTS,    HOPES,    PEARS — A    TANGLED    YARN.  '115 


CHAPTER   XXXVIJL 

DOUBTS,    HOPES,    FEARS  —  A    TANGLED    YARN. 

IT  was  with  ,1  feeling  of  intense  disappointment  that  Willie 
Sinclair  found  his  search  after  Henry  Travis  fruitless.  His 
duties  imperatively  required  that  he  himself  should  forego  it, 
after  a  certain  period,  and  proceed  to  Oangeburg  in  prosecu 
tion  of  his  military  tasks.  He  did  so,  leaving  Ballou,  the  scout, 
in  charge  of  a  small  party  commissioned  to  continue  the  pur 
suit  so  long  as  there  remained  any  precinct  in  the  vicinity  un- 
examined. 

He  could  not  have  left  the  affair  in  better  hands.  But  Bal 
lou  found  himself  at  fault.  His  hunt  that  night  resulted  in  no 
discovery ;  and  with  the  morning,  he  descended  with  his  party 
into  those  recesses  of  the  swamp  which  it  was  idle  to  attempt 
by  night.  His  scouting  in  this  region  was  nice  and  narrow. 
It  was  fruitless  also,  beyond  the  picking  up  of  a  couple  more  of 
the  fugitives,  one  of  whom  was  wounded  by  a  pistol-bullet.  The 
missing  canoe  led  him  to  conjecture  rightly  the  course  which 
Inglehardt  had  taken.  The  absence  of  the  slave  Julius  ex 
plained  to  the  family  the  means  by  which  the  loyalist  captain 
had  been  extricated  from  his  bonds,  and  conclusively  showed 
by  whose  agency  the  latter  had  been  enabled  to  pick  up  so 
many  of  the  secrets  of  the  household.  The  only  hope  of  the 
mother  and  sister,  in  respect  to  the  safety  of  Henry  Travis,  lay 
in  the  hoped-for  discoveries  which  Sinclair  might  make  at 
Orangeburg.  When  this  hope  was  expressed  in  the  hearing  of 
Ballou  he  was  silent.  Afterward,  he  said  to  'Bram,  the  only 
comrade  of  the  party  to  whom  he  condescended  to  utter  his 
opinions  freely :  — 

"No  chance  of  that,  'Bram  —  no  chance.  Inglehardt  knows 
better  —  knows  better.  He's  picked  up  the  boy,  somehow. 
How.  there's  no  telling  jest  yet;  for  you  see,  though  we  find 


446  THE   FORAYERS. 

Inglehardt's  track  and  the  nigger's  close  to  \vhcre  the  dugout 
lay  at  the  landing,  we  don't  find  no  other.    The  boys  ain't  there 

—  ain't  there.     But  you  see,  we  hain't  found   Hell-fire    Dick 
and  we  hain't  found  the  Trailer,  and  it's  clear  they've  got  ofl 
— got  off.     Now,  can  yeu  guess  how,  'Bram  ?     How  ?" 

"  Nebber  kin  guess,  Bullou." 

"  Well,  did  you  see  them  tracks  about  the  garden  ?" 

"  I  bin  see — for  true." 

"  Very  well.  I've  got  the  measure  of  Hell-fire  Dick  and  the 
Trailer,  and  them's  their  tracks.  Now,  you  see,  they've  worked 
off  a-foot  to  yonder  thick,  and  there  you  see  where  they  had 
their  horces  fastened  —  there,  now,  they've  got  a  chance  and 
carried  off  the  boy  —  that's  the  how — the  how.  None  but  horse 
tracks  after  that,  and  such  a  crowd  of  'em,  there's  no  telling 
which  is  which.  If  I  had  been  a-foot,  and  me  only,  and  in  a 
fair  daylight,  I  might  have  taken  the  track  of  all  of  them — all 
of  them.  But  this  hunting  by  fire-light  —  it  only  sarves  to  blind 
one's  own  eyes,  and  to  show  the  inimy  how  to  skulk  the  better 

—  skulk  the  better.     Inglehardt  and  Dick  and  the  Trailer,  and 
the  boy,  and  maybe  Captain  Travis  himself,  are  all  off  some 
where  together.     The  dugout  could  carry  off  three  of  them  I 
reckon,  and  they  may  have  picked  up  another  boat  along  the 
river  to  carry  off  the  whole.     But  what  they've  done  with  the 
horses  there's  no  telling  yet,  and  only  one  way  to  find  out,  and 
I'm  for  a  search  down  along  the  river  as  far  as  Four-mile  Branch 
to  see  where  they've  put  in.     For  put  in  they  must  have  done 
somewhere.     They  never  made  down  the  road — they  never 
made  up.     They  swum  the  river,  or  found  a  ford,  and  we  must 
find  out  the  how  and  the  where.     When  we've  done  that,  we 
can  make  a  pretty  sure  guess   as  to  what's  become  of  them. 
My  notion  is  they've  crossed  the  horses,  and  dropped  down  the 
river  themselves,  leaving  one  of  the  party  to  fetch  a  compass 
through  the  woods  and  round  the  village  with  the  horses." 

"  I  'speck  you  right,  Ballou." 

"  I  reckon  I  am.  And  now,  'Bram,  I  don't  mean  to  take  any 
of  you  fellows  along  with  me  on  this  search.  You,  and  these 
dragoons,  will  stay  here,  and  keep  guard  over  the  family,  tell 
you  get  your  orders  from  the  major.  And  jest  you  say  to 
Madam  Travis  and  the  young  lady  that  I'm  hard  after  sign 


DOUBTS,    HOPES,    FEARS A    TANGLED    YARN.  447 

[trail- track]  and  that  I'm  mighty  hopeful.     Tell  'em  there's  no 
danger  of  any  harm  coming  to  the  lad,  excepting  the  captivity 

—  excepting  the  captivity.     You  kin  tell  her  this  jest  as  well  a& 
me,  and,  ^rehaps,  a  little  better ;  for  I  do  hate  to  lie  when  I'm 
reporting  about  a  scout,  and  if  I  see  her  a-weeping,  and  sobbing, 
and  wringing  her  hands,  I  know  I  shall  have  to  lie  as  bad  as 
any  regular  trooper  —  lie  as  bad  as  a  trooper  —  as   a  trooper! 

—  and,  Lord  knows,  lying  comes   as  natural  to   a  trooper  as 
mother's  milk  to  an  infant,  or  whiskey  to  a  militiaman,  or  roast 
pork  to  a  famishing  Christian  nigger  in  cool  weather.     Now, 
you  hear,  I  don't  forbid  you  to  lie  a  little  if  you  see  the   case 
requires  it  —  if  the  griefs  very  hard  to  bear  —  and  you  hear  the 
women  a-screaming  too  bad.     You  may  tell  what  bloody  lie  you 
please  to  make  'em  quiet,  and  strengthen  their  hearts,  and  make 
'em  feel  better,  and  fill  'em  with  hope  —  fill  'em  with  hope.     If 
'twant  about  scouting,  I  could  lie  to  'em  too,  as  well  as  anybody  ; 
but  a  scout  that  don't  see  sign  must  n't  say  sign.     Such  a  scout's 
no  better  than  a  mangy  dog  that  barks  up  the  wrong  tree  —  a 
mangy  dog." 

"  Knock  'em  on  he  head." 

"  Exactly !  He  ain't  fit  to  live.  Now,  'Bram,  you  under 
stand  what  you're  to  do  and  to  say.  You  kin  lie  a  bit,  I  tell 
you,  if  you  see  that  it  will  do  the  ladies  good,  and  ease  their 
.'.fictions,  and  you  kin  say  that  I'm  on  the  track,  and  that  I've 
found  sign,  and  that  you  reckon  I'll  have  the  boy  back  again  in 
a  few  "days  —  a  few  days  —  have  him  back.  And  I  hope  I  will, 
'Bram,  though  I  don't  see  the  sign,  and  you're  to  stick  to  the 
house,  and  keep  a  sharp  eye  about  you,  and  wait  the  major's 
orders  and  just  you  tell  him  that  I'll  keep  out  until  I  can  make 
a  sensible  report." 

"  I  yerry  !" 

"  Very  well !  all  right,  so  far.  And  now,  'Bram,  do  you  see  that  ?" 

Here  he  pulled  a  corpulent  quart  bottle  from  his  coat  pocket. 

"  Ha  !  wha'  dat,  Jim  Ballou  ?  'tis  bottle." 

"  Well,  you're  a  wise  nigger,  after  seeing  it,  to  g  less  so  quick. 
But,  do  you  know  what's  in  the  bottle  ?" 

"  I  guess  he  whiskey.     Ha  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It's  nothing  worse,  'Bram,  than  good  old 
Jamaica.  Smell  of  it,  if  you  wish  to  be  sartain." 


448  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  I  kin  tell   em  more  better  by  de  tas'e." 

"Well,  if  jou  can't  tell  Jamaica  by  the  smell,  the  liquor's 
not  the  sort  to  do  you  any  good  by  the  taste." 

"  Psho,  Jim  Ballou,  dat's  berry  foolish  sawt  o'  talk  !  Whay 
you  git  dat  Jimmaker  ?" 

"  Out  of  the  pocket  of  the  red-headed  fellow  that  we  found 
half  dead  in  the  swamp  this  morning.  I  reckon  he  was  bit  with 
the  liquor  before  he  got  the  bite  of  the  bullet.  You  see  that 
there's  a  pretty  considerable  swig  gone  out  of  it ;  and  the  cork 
being  a  good  one,  I  reckon  it  never  went  out  of  its  own  accord, 
and  only  by  word  of  command." 

"  Look  yer,  Jim  Ballou,  you  guine  to  pull  at  that  Jimmaker?" 

"  Bram,  I'd  jest  freely  give  my  leetle  finger  now,  cut  off  clean, 
to  swallow  one  good  mouthful  of  this  charming  creature  —  I 
would  —  my  leetle  finger — for  only  one  good  mouthful.  I 
hankers  for  it,  'Bram.  But  I  durstn't  drink.  I've  swore  a 
most  etarnal  oath,  and  it's  as  much  as  my  soul's  worth  to  taste 
of  the  beautiful  varmint.  But  you  shall  drink  on  my  account, 
and  I'll  charge  to  you.  There  !  take  a  swig.  Is  it  good,  'Bram  ?" 

The  negro's  potation  was  deep ;  the  stream  poured  down 
without  a  gurgle.  The  throat  offered  no  resistance,  and  the 
prudent  hands  of  Ballou  finally  tore  away  the  bottle  from  the 
fellow's  mouth.  A  smack  of  the  lips,  a  long  drawn  sigh,  and 
suddenly  humid  eyes,  attested  'Bram's  satisfaction. 

"  Is  it  so  sweet,  nigger  V 

"  Like  de  milk  ob  Heabben,  Jim  Ballou." 

"  You  love  it  too  much,  'Bram." 

"  You  too,  Ballou  !" 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  trust  myself  to  taste.  If  I  only  taste,  I'm 
gone.  Can  I  trust  you,  'Bram  ?" 

"  Wha'  for  no  truss  me  ?  leff  de  bottle  wid  me,  Ballou." 

"  If  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor,  'Bram,  that  you'll  only 
swallow  one-half  to-day,  and  t'other  half  to-morrow." 

"  I  sway  !— " 

"  No !  don't  you  swear !  But  just  give  me  your  word  of 
honor  as  I  tell  you.  There's  enough  for  you,  two  days,  if  you 
drink  like  a  gentleman." 

"  Psho  !  for  able-bodied  pusson  liVe  me,  Jim  Ballou,  de  liquor 
guine  sarve  only  for  one  day  " 


DOUBTS,   HOPES,   FEARS  —  A   TANGLED   YARN.          449 

11  Y"es,  but  you're  to  drink  like  a  gentleman,  not  like  an  able- 
bodied  person  —  a  gentleman,  'Bram  —  a  gentleman." 

"For  two  day,  den,  I  must  'babe  [behave]  like  gemplemans?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  s'posing  de  young  lady,  Miss  Bert'a,  say  to  me,  yer 
'Bram,  something  to  drink  ?" 

"  Then  you're  to  keep  the  Jamaica  for  another  day." 

"  Ha !  Jim  Ballou,  you  mighty  hard  'pon  dis  riigger." 

"  You  won't  get  it.  until  you  promise.  Remember,  you  rascal, 
how  /love  it." 

"I  promise,  Ballou  — ef  I  doesn't,  you  only  guine  to  drink 
'em  you  se'f  and  lose  your  'spectability." 

"Take  it  —  and  put  it  out  of  my  sight,  'Bram.  It's  mighty 
hard  work  to  keep  my  mouth  from  it.  It's  a  sore  trial  of  the 
flesh  —  sore  —  a  sore  trial  of  the  flesh.  Hide  it  from  my  sight. 
I'm  mighty  weak  and  thirsty." 

"  I'll  tink  'bout  you  when  I  drinks,  Ballou.  Hope  'twill  do 
you  good,  same  as  ef  you  bin  drunk  you  se'f." 

"  Thank  you  !  And  now,  'Bram,  keep  your  eyes  bright,  or 
the  Philistines  will  be  upon  you.  Remember  all  I've  told  you. 
Good-by,  old  fellow ;  I'm  going  to  put  out  this  very  minute. 
Good-by  !  Don't  forget,  if  you  see  too  much  grief  going  on, 
to  put  in  a  lie  now  and  then  about  the  sign." 

"  I  'member  all  wha'  you  say." 

And  the  two  shook  hands  and  parted  —  the  scout  burying 
himself  at  once  in  the  recesses  of  the  swamp,  and  'Bram  taking 
his  way  toward  the  house,  resolved  upon  any  amount  of  lying, 
if  he  thought  that  the  afflictions  of  the  ladies  should  need  that 
wholesome  kind  of  sedative. 

Meanwhile,  Sinclair  had  startled  all  the  echoes  in  Orange- 
burg.  It  was  night  still,  and  very  dark,  when  his  cavalry 
thundered  up  the  streets.  What  could  it  mean  ?  Who  could  it 
be?  While  the  question  was  undecided,  whig  and  tory  kept 
equally  close. 

Sinclair  darted  at  once  upon  the  jail.  It  was  a  sort  of  cita 
del.  The  post  of  jailer  was  held  by  an  invalided  Scotch  ser 
geant,  who  veiy  reluctantly  threw  open  his  doors  to  the  rebel 
troopers.  The  commissariat  was  soon  emptied  of  arms  and 
immunition  A  score  of  rifles,  as  many  of  muskets,  bayonets, 


450  THE   FORAYERS. 

a  bale  or  two  of  blankets,  and  a  variety  of  odds  and  ends  in  the 
x\  ay  of  arms,  implements,  and  clothing  —  not  too  great  a  burden, 
however,  for  the  troopers  to  divide  and  carry  off  upon  their  sad 
dles,  rewarded  the  raid.  Petty  as  was  the  spoil,  it  was  of  very 
considerable  importance  to  the  Carolinians,  half  of  whom  were 
bare  at  hip  and  elbow  —  many  only  in  part  armed,  and  not  a 
few  without  any  weapons  The  war  of  liberty  rarely  implies 
adequate  provision  for  its  champions. 

It  was  several  hours  after  daylight  before  our  major  of  dra 
goons  had  sufficiently  done  his  work  in  the  village.  Sixteen 
wild  Irish  were  extricated  from  the  dungeon,  charged  with  the 
Irish  virtue  of  mutiny  and  insubordination.  Without  asking 
questions,  they  hailed  their  deliverer  with  a  shout.  He  had 
but  one  question  to  ask  of  them  : — 

"  Who  are  you  for  —  King  George  or  freedom  1" 

"  Is  it  fradom,  do  you  say  ?"  was  the  reply  with  one  voice. 
1  Och  !  thin,  the  divil  fly  away  with  King  George,  and  all  the 
other  kings  upon  airth  !  Hoorah  for  the  fradom,  and  Ameriky 
for  iver  !" 

It  was  no  use  to  expostulate  with  such  ready  converts  to  the 
true  faith,  or  to  put  them  under  any  special  ordeal  for  the  trial 
of  their  virtues.  They  were  at  once  marched  out  into  the  open 
air,  and  enrolled  in  the  ranks.  Then  followed  the  search  for 
Inglehardt  and  his  retainers  and  captives.  But,  after  ransack- 
ing  all  suspected  places,  to  the  no  small  terror  of  the  lurking 
loyalists,  Sinclair  was  compelled  to  abandon  the  search  in  that 
quarter.  He  was  in  despair.  No  trace  of  Inglehardt — no 
sign  of  Henry  Travis." 

Noon  found  him  back  at  Holly-Dale.  Bertha  was  the  first  to 
hail  his  approach  from  the  upper  windows,  and  to  rush  out  to 
meet  him. 

"  Oh  !  Willie,  what  of  Henry  ?" 

But  she  read  his  answer  in  his  looks,  and  wrung  her  hands, 
while  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Nothing !  nothing  !     Has  Ballou  made  no  discoveries  ?'' 

"  He  is  gone  in  search.  'Bram  says  that  he  is  on  the  track 
— that  there  are  signs  —  and  that  he  is  in  hope  of  finding  mm 
He  went  alone.  The  soldiers  are  here." 

••  And  'Bram  ?" 


DOUBTS,    HOPES,    PEARS  —  A   TANGLED    YARN.  451 

"  He  is  here  also.     Ballon  preferred  to  go  alone." 

"  He  was  right.     Do  not  fear,  Bertha.  .  Ballon  will  find  him.' 

"But  if  .he  is  hurt,  Willie?" 

"  No  fear  of  that.  He  is  evidently  carried  off.  Inglehardi 
has  secured  him  while  making  his  own  escape." 

"  Have  you  had  no  signs  of  him  ?" 

"  None !  He  has  probably  got  across,  or  gone  down  the 
river ;  but  he  can  not  escape  us  long,  dear  Bertha ;  and,  mean 
while,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  will  harm  the  boy 
His  game,  I  see.  It  is  his  policy  to  save  him,  but  to  keep  him, 
and  your  father  too,  as  pledges  for  you." 

Here  the  mother  joined  them. 

"My  child,  Sinclair  —  my  child!" 

Her  eyes  were  dry,  but  wild,  red,  fearful  to  behold.  Sinclair 
renewed  his  assurances,  his  encouragements,  the  expression  of 
his  hopes,  the  grounds  for  their  security.  These  hardly  reached 
or  satisfied  the  senses  of  the  mother.  She  could  only  repeat — 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  my  poor,  poor  boy  !  He  was  never 
away  from  me  one  night  in  his  life.  And,  now  —  in  what  con 
dition  is  he?  in  whose  hands  —  how  suffering?  Oh!  Willie 
Sinclair,  will  you  not  bring  me  back  my  boy  ?" 

"  I  would  die  to  do  so,  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis !  I  will  do  all 
that  can  be  done  !" 

How  feeble  are  all  words,  all  promises,  all  expressed  hopes, 
in  such  a  case,  addressed  to  the  ears  of  a  mother ! 

It  was  long  before  she  could  vary  this  one  note,  or  speak  or 
think  of  other  things.  But,  suddenly,  she  grasped  Sinclair  by 
the  wrist : — 

"  It  was  this  danger  that  he  feared  !  He  would  have  provided 
for  this  very  chance !  Hear  me,  Willie.  You  have  my  hus 
band's  letter.  I  am  aware  of  what  it  contains.  He  bade  me 
follow  all  its  instructions  in  the  event  of  his  failure  to  return 
yesterday.  You  remember  what  they  are  ?" 

Sinclair  nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

"  You  are  to  have  all  the  negroes  transferred  immediately  to 
the  Santee  plantation.  Bertha  and  myself  are  to  follow  them 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  she  is  to  become  your  wife  —  if  you 
are  prepared  for  it  —  without  a  moment's  delay." 

The  cheeks  of  Bertha  grew  to  crimson. 


452  THE  FORAYERS. 

"  His  letter  to  me,"  answered  Sinclair,  "  is  to  this  very  effect, 
I  have  planned  the  mode,  and  hav"e  the  means,  for  conveying 
the  negroes  and  your  most  valuable  moveables  to  a  place  of  se 
curity.  Kit  Howe  undertakes  to  convey  your  furniture  to  his 
plantation.  Your  husband  has  sent  me  his  signature  to  a  bill 
of  sale,  conveying  it  absolutely  to  Howe.  It  may  thus  be 
saved.  In  your  absence,  the  tories  will  probably  destroy  your 
house.  Your  cattle  I  shall  have  transferred  to  Greene's  army. 
Your  horses,  except  such  as  you  need  for  your  own  purposes,  I 
will  take  on  account  of  the  state  for  our  troopers,  several  of 
whom  have  none.  You  will  need  but  four  for  your  journey  to 
the  Santee ;  and  the  sooner  you  set  out  the  better,  since  escape, 
in  two  days  more,  will  be  next  to  impossible ;  Rawdon's  army 
being  in  progress  from  the  Oongaree,  Colonel  Stewart  from 
Charleston,  and  Cruger  with  a  swarm  of  loyalists  from  above, 
and  pressing  down  upon  the  route  to  Orange/burg  between  the 
two  Edistos.  They  will  pass  your  door.  Your  policy  will  be 
to  force  your  way  between  Rawdon  and  Stewart,  before  they 
can  effect  a  junction." 

"But  how  can  I  leave  Holly-Dale,  Willie,  and  no  tidings  of 
my  child  ?" 

"  You  need  not  remain  on  this  account.  I  shall  see  that 
tidings  reach  you,  wherever  you  are,  as  soon  as  we  obtain 
them.  In  remaining  here,  you  know  not  what  you  risk.  All 
this  region  will  be  under  the  control  of  the  enemy,  until  we  can 
come  to  blows  with  him,  and,  should  we  fail,  you  will  be  more 
at  th'e  mercy  of  the  foe  than  ever." 

It  was  a  hard  task  with  the  mother  to  leave  Holly-Dale 
while  her  son's  fate  was  doubtful. 

"  Oh !  Willie,  should  he  return,  the  poor  boy,  and  find  no 
body  to  recieve  him  !" 

Of  course,  this  notion  of  his  voluntary  return  was  combated 
as  a  great  improbability,  by  Sinclair. 

"  He  will  not  be  suffered  the  chance  to  escape,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Travis,  by  those  who  have  him  in  captivity.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  same  person  who  has  carried  off  the  father,  has  the  son 
in  custody  also.  I  make  no  doubt  they  are  both  together. 
Neither  will  reappear,  until  brought  back  by  Inglehardt,  or 
until  rescued  by  his  foes.  We  shall  spare  nothing  for  the  latter 


FEARS  —  A    TANGLED    YARN.  453 

object;  and  you  need  not  wait  here  for  the  former.  Whenever 
t  is  Inglehardt's  cue  to  restore  your  son  and  husband,  he  will 
find  no  difficulty  in  doing  so,  go  where  you  will.  And  go  you 
must !  Pardon  rne  this  earnestness,  but  you  must  suffer  me  to 
be  master  now.  Submit  —  confide  in  me,  dear  Mrs.  Travis  — 
as  the  mother  in  her  son." 

"And  you  will  be  my  son?  Yes,  Willie,  I  submit  —  I  con 
fide!  God  be  merciful  to  me,  Willie! — under  him,  I  have 
now  no  hope  but  in  you  !" 

She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  sobbed  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  And  how,  and  when  shall  the  marriage  take  place,  Willie  ?" 

Bertha's  cheeks  flushed  once  more  to  crimson  at  the  question, 
and  she  was  turning  away  when  the  answer  of  Sinclair  arrested 
her. 

"  There  can  be  no  marriage  now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Travis.  That 
is  just  now  impossible." 

Red  and  pale  alternately  did  the  cheeks  of  Bertha  become 
in  a  single  moment  —  pride  and  shame  both  active  at  a  word 
Mrs.  Travis  withdrew  her  hands  from  the  affectionate  rest 
which  they  had  taken  on  Sinclair's  shoulder 

"  How,  sir,  no  marriage  ?" 

"None  just  now, 'my  dear  mother  ;  — and  you,  Bertha" — 
here  lie  caught  her  hand  —  "do  not  you  misunderstand  me! 
No  gift  could  be  nuore  precious  to  me  than  this  hand,  now  and 
for  ever !  But  I  dare  not,  for  your  sakes,  clasp  it  in  marriage 
now  !  Were  I  to  do  so,  we  should  lose  all  hold  on  Inglehardt 
—  forfeit  every  hope  of  safety  for  Mr.  Travis,  if  not  for  Henry. 
Such  an  act  would  precipitate  the  fate  of  one  or  both.  It  would 
cut  Inglehardt  off  from  that  object,  for  which  he  keeps  both  of 
them  in  captivity.  Were  we  married,  he  would  at  once  sacri 
fice  your  husband  to  the  fury  of  Balfour.  He  would  expose 
those  seeiets  whicii  now  give  him  a  hold  upon  your  father,  and 
would  denounce  him,  as  the  possibility  no  longer  remained  of 
securing  the  daughter  through  the  terrors  which  he  would  seek 
to  inspire  in  regard  to  the  father's  fate.  While  there  is  still  a 
prospect  of  obtaining  your  hand,  your  father  is  safe.  Cut  off 
that  prospect,  and  we  have  no  security." 


454  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  But  it  was  even  this  very  state  of  tilings,  his  arrest  and  cap 
tivity,  which  my  husband  anticipated." 

"  True,  my  dear  madam,  and  his  commands,  contemplating 
this  prospect,  afford  a  generous  example  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
are  highly  honorable ;  but  he  never  once  contemplated  the 
capture  and  detention  of  his  son.  He  never  dreaded  that  the 
son's  fate,  no  less  than  his  own,  rested  upon  the  disposition  of 
his  daughter's  hand.  Heaven  knows  —  nay,  Bertha  knows  — 
that  no  blessing  of  Heaven  could  be  more  grateful  to  my  soul 
than  the  instant  possession  of  this  dear  girl's  hand ;  but  when 
I  see  the  peril  which  it  involves,  to  father  and  son  alike,  I  dare 
not  touch  it  —  I  dare  not  espouse  her!  We  must  wait!  We 
are  at  the  mercy  of  this  base,  cold-blooded  villain,  and  you  both 
know  him  only  too  well,  to  need  that  I  should  say,  that  our 
marriage  would  be  fatal  to  the  safety  of  Mr.  Travis,  and  possi 
bly  to  that  of  our  dear  boy,  Henry." 

"  God  be  merciful !"  groaned  the  mother,  as  the  true  situation 
in  which  she  stood  became  apparent  to  her  understanding. 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  mother !  Oh !  Willie  Sinclair,  I 
have  ceased  to  think.  I  can  only  feel  and  fear.  Do  with  me 
as  you  please.  Give  your  orders.  I  obey.  I  submit  without 
question  —  only  tell  me  that  you  will  save  my  husband  —  that 
you  will  give  me  back  my  boy." 

"  If  human  will  and  effort  may  do  this,  mother,  at  any  haz 
ard,  it  shall  be  done.  Bertha,  you  do  not  doubt  me  1  You  are 
not  angry  ?" 

"Doubt  you,  Willie  —  angry  with  you!  No!  no!  I  trust 
you  as  my  own  soul.  I  love  you  as  my  life.  Believe  me ! 
believe  me,  Willie.  Though  we  never  marry,  Willie  Sinclair, 
I  am  still  yours,  yours  only  !" 

And  the  ingenuous  girl  flung  her  arms  about  her  lover's  neck. 
Hid  kissed  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  brother.  There  was  nr 
longer  a  doubt  —  a  cloud  —  a  shadow  —between  their  lovevp  ' 


FLIGHT   FT?OM   HOLLY-PALE.  465 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

FLIGHT    FROM    HOLLY-DALE. 

THE  plans  of  the  family  having  been  satisfactorily  discussed 
that  afternoon  between  the  two  ladies  and  Sinclair,  the  latter 
gathered  the  negroes  of  the  plantation  together  early  that  night, 
and  made  them  a  little  speech.  'Bram  was  formally  introduced 
to  them  as  their  friend  and  guide.  They  were  to  travel  under 
his  direction.  They  were  told,  as  were  the  Israelites  of  old, 
that  the  Santee  country  was  the  land  of  milk  and  honey  —  or 
rather  of  molasses,  corn  in  abundance,  any  number  of  pigs,  and 
'coon  and  'possum  beyond  any  computation.  A  negro  so  rel 
ishes  a  change  that  he  will  even  forget  the  charms  of  a  first,  for 
a  second  or  even  a  third  and  fourth  wife,  and  is  always  pre 
pared  for  new  lodgings.  You  can  scarcely  remove  him  too 
frequently  for  his  own  satisfaction.  He  is  a  creature  of  great 
levity,  steadfast  in  nothing,  except  appetite,  and  feels  more  fully 
than  any  other  people  that  moral  of  the  vulgar  — "  Omne  igno- 
tum  pro  magmfico  /"  The  unknown  is  to  him  always  a  Canaan 
of  unqualified  delights. 

The  fraternity  seemed  very  well  pleased  with  the  prospect  as 
painted  to  them  by  Sinclair,  but  lest  anything  should  be  want 
ing  in  his  delineations,  'Bram  himself  took  up  the  parole,  where 
his  master  finished,  and  discoursed  to  them  after  his  own  fashion 
of  eloquence. 

"  Yerry  to  me,  brudderen,  and  you,  my  belubl  ,>d  sisteren,  be 
so  good  as  to  yerry  to  wha'  I  hab  for  say.  L'uckrah  know 
someting,  but  Ve  dun  no  ebbryting.  Maussa,  de  major,  is  a  bery 
sensible  gemplemans,  but  he  ain't  always  know  de  reasonable 
occasions  and  argymentations  for  mek  de  ting  clear  and  compre 
hensible  to  de  infections  and  onderstandings  of  a  regenerate 
nigger.  Now,  you  see,  'Bram  hab  all  he  niaussa  sense,  da's 


1HE    POftAfBKb. 

white  man  sense,  and  lie  Lab  all  nigger  sense  besides,  and  da's 
he  own.  De  ting  wha'  he  tell  you  is  no  mo'  dan  de  massi- 
ful  trute :  but  he's  no  tell  you  half  ob  de  good  ting  and  de 
pleasure  of  dat  same  country  'pon  de  Santee.  'Bram  knows 
'em  better  dan  de  major  know  he  book.  When  you  git  to  dat 
country  you  nebber  kin  dead.  For  who  guine  dead  so  long  as 
fat  pig  day  run  ebbry  way  onder  he  eye?  You  see  fat  pig  dat 
run  'bout  yer  'pon  de  Edisto,  squeaking  as  he  run,  '  Come  roas' 
me  —  come  roas'  me?'  I  ax  you,  brudderen  and  sisteren,  how 
long  sense  you  bin  see  sich  purty  critter  as  dat  a  running  yer 
'pon  de  Edisto  ?" 

Here  a  grunt  and  murmur  from  the  crowd. 

"  Well,  you  know  wha's  yer,  and  you  know  wha'  ain't  yer  ! 
But  /  know  wha's  a  waiting  for  you  'pon  de  Santee.  Yer,  de 
sodger,  Whig  and  tory,  eat  up  de  pig  —  nebber  le'  'em  grow 
to  running  fat;  dar,  on  de  Santee,  de  pig  is  so  plenty  dat  —  dat 
he  eat  up  de  sodger  !" 

"  Ki !  de  Lawd  ha'  massy.     Oh  !  da  !" 

"  It's  a  trute.  De  pig  dar  is  so  fat  and  sassy,  dat  he  fair  ax 
you  for  eat  'em.  He  dun  no  wha'  for  do  wid  hese'f.  You  jis' 
nab  for  knock  'em  down  as  he  run  for  sabe  you'  se'f.  Ef  you 
don't,  you  wake  up  in  de  morning,  and  you  ain't  fin'  yourse'f 
'tall  —  only  leettle  eend  o'  youse'f — de  pig  is  eat  de  res'." 

"  Ki !  de  Lawd  delibber  us  !  Who  ebber  yer  ob  sich  country 
befo'." 

"  It's  a  trute,  my  sisteren.  But  de  pig  ain't  all.  De  cawn 
grow  jis'  at  de  bery  sight  ob  de  hoe ;  de  chicken  crow  jis'  as 
he  shak'  off  de  shell ;  de  'simmon  [persimmon]  so  tick,  dat  you 
kin  catch  twenty-seben  and  fifteen  'possum  and  coon  a'  night  on 
de  same  tree ;  and  der's  no  eend  to  sich  eatable  leettle  varmints 
as  de  squirll  and  rabbit.  Dem  you  knocks  ober  wid  little  stick 
when  you  is  walking  'bout  in  de  sunset." 

A  pause  —  giving  opportunity  to  the  full  and  fervid  expres 
sion  of  applause. 

"  An'  it's  'p'inted  for  me,  brudderen  and  sisteren,  'Bram,  to 
show  you  de  way  to  dat  most  blessed  splendiferous  country  ob 
meat  and  molasses.  And  jis'  you  follow  me  — do  de  ting  I  tell 
you _ lie  close  when  1  say — '  Nigger's,  dem  dam  tory  is  about ;' 
and  push  forward,  quick  as  runner  [black  snake]  when  I  say 


FLIGHT   FROM   HOLLY-DALE.  457 

Now's  de  time  for  shaking  de  rheumatic  out  ob  de  legs' — and 
I  carries  you  safe  I  tell  you,  to  dat  lieabben  ob  a  country.  Is 
you  willing,  I  axes  ? —  brudderen  and  sisteren,  le'  me  yer  from 
you.  Is  you  willing  to  eat  pig  ?  Da's  de  fuss  question." 

The  acclarnatory  and  affirmative  grunt  was  unanimous. 

"  Meat  and  molasses ;  coon  and  'possum  ;  pork  and  purtatoes ; 
hog  and  hom'ny ;  lightwood  a  plenty,  and  de  beautifullest  and 
tickest  swamp  in  de  wo'ld.  Enty  dese  is  excelling  beautiful 
tings  for  sensible  nigger?" 

The  eloquence  of  'Bram  was  irresistible.  He  supplied  all 
the  deficiencies  in  the  argument  of  Sinclair. 

That  night  the  whole  force  of  the  plantation — leaving  only 
the  coachman,  cook,  and  one  maid-servant,  who  were  destined 
to  attend  the  ladies  when  they  went  —  disappeared  before  mid 
night.  A  little  covered  wagon  contained  the  children,  and  the 
provisions  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  whole  party  along 
the  route.  'Bram  had  his  instructions.  He  was  to  travel  only 
by  night ;  to  lie  close  in  swamp  or  thicket  during  the  day ;  to 
avoid  the  great  thoroughfares ;  use  neighborhood  roads  or  open 
pine  woods  when  he  could,  and  strike  for  the  ferry  known  as 
Nelson's.  It  was  feared  that  the  upper  ferries,  might  be  in 
possession  of  the  enemy.  His  route  was  to  be  sinuous,  and  he 
was  not  to  hurry  forward  in  the  face  of  any  risk.  His  supply 
of  provisions  was  ample  for  an  encampment  of  ten  days.  We 
need  but  add,  that  'Bram  was  equal  to  the  task,  and  knew  all 
the  sinuosities  of  the  country.  He  was  also  scout  enough  to 
know  how  to  take  cover  in  season,  and  he  rarely  forgot  his 
precaution.  Leaving  him  to  pursue  his  course  according  to  his 
0-wn  discretion,  Sinclair  addressed  himself  to  such  duties  as 
remained  to  him  at  Holly-Dale. 

The  morning  after  'Brain's  departure,  St.  Julien  rode  in  with 
his  troopers.  His  report  showed  him  to  have  been  busy.  He  had 
dispersed  a  small  gathering  of  tories  at  Dean's  swamp,  securing 
a  few  prisoners,  and  a  score  or  two  of  broad  swords  and  rifles 
Coulter,  it  seems,  had  had  a  brush  with  the  black  dragoons  of  Cap 
tain  Quash,  had  cut  up  a  score  of  them,  and  in  a  personal  encoun 
ter  with  Quash,  had  the  satisfaction  of  cropping  off  one  of  his  ears, 
in  a  well -intended  sabre-strrkc  at  his  head.  Quash  was  a  negro, 
captain  jf  one  qf  the  few  corps  of  negroes  whom  the  British  had 

20 


458  THE   FORAYERS. 

ventured  to  uniform.  He  had  a  very  pretty  command,  sable 
and  scarlet,  of  forty-five  troopers,  but  though  runaways  and 
ruffians,  they  were  not  found  very  serviceable,  being  always 
more  successful  in  the  onslaught  upon  a  hen-roost  than  upon  any 
game  customers. 

The  arrival  of  St.  Julien  enabled  Sinclair  to  furnish  a  proper 
escort  for  the  ladies  in  their  progress  to  the  Santee.  This  had 
been  a  subject  of  some  embarrassment  with  him  till  this  moment, 
since  the  orders  of  Marion  and  Rutledge  required  his  own  pres 
ence  at  camp.  Great  events  were  ripening,  and  the  necessities 
of  Greene  and  his  policy,  required  that  he  should  draw  his  forces 
to  a  head,  in  order  to  a  demonstration  upon  Rawdon,  who,  it 
was  now  understood,  was  embarrassed  in  various  ways  —  was 
himself  an  invalid  —  with  troops  exhausted  by  forced  marches 
in  midsummer,  and  not  a  few  of  them  very  much  indisposed  to 
the  service.  The  Irish  troops  at  once  raw  and  mutinous,  were 
a  great  source  of  uneasiness  and  apprehension. 

It  may  be  necessary,  at  this  stage  of  our  narrative,  and  for 
the  better  comprehension  of  its  details  in  future,  to  take  a  brief 
survey  of  the  relative  condition  of  the  two  great  warring  parties 
in  the  state.  We  have  seen  that  Rawdon,  after  relieving  the 
post  of  Ninety-Six,  has  been  compelled  to  abandon  it.  His 
resources  did  not  suffer  him  to  retain  a  position  so  remote  from 
the  seaboard,  which  he  could  not  adequately  garrison ;  and  he 
well  knew  that,  as  soon  as  he  should  begin  his  return  to  the  Lower 
Country,  the  several  American  forces  would  again  concentrate 
about  the  position,  the  fall  of  which  would  then  be  inevitable, 
and  would  lose  to  him  a  body  of  troops,  which  his  present  exi 
gency  would  not  suffer  him  to  spare.  Accordingly,  calling 
around  him  the  loyalist  chiefs  of  the  precinct,  a  fierce  and  hardy 
class  with  numerous  followers,  he  advised  them  of  the  necessity 
which  required  that  he  should  abandon  the  place.  This  was 
equivalent  to  their  abandonment  to  a  fate  which  their  own 
provocations  well  assured  them  would  be  a  merciless  one.  The 
alternative  that  remained  to  them  was  flight.  They  recognised 
the  melancholy  necessity,  and  prepared  with  their  wives  and 
little  ones  to  depart  from  their  ancient  homesteads.  To  cover 
their  departure  from  the  American  patriots,  Rawdon  left  behind 
him  one  half  of  his  army,  from  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  men, 


FLIGHT   FROM    HOLLY-DAi^.  459 

under  the  conduct  of  Cruger,  tlie  colonel  who  had  so  long,  and 
with  so  much  courage  and  ability,  defended  the  post  of  Ninety- 
Shr..  This  force  was  to  follow  him  as  soon  as  the  fugitive  people 
were  prepared  for  their  painful  exodus.  No  long  time  was 
needed  for  preparation,  in  fact  could  not  be  "allowed,  since  they 
had  every  reason  to  apprehend  the  early  return  of  the  American 
army.  Rawdon,  meanwhile,  set  out  with  a  rapidity  of  move 
ment  which  almost  threatened  the  destruction  of  his  army  — 
fifty  of  his  men  falling  dead  in  their  tracks,  during  a  five-days' 
tnaich,  the  victims  to  the  terrible  heat  of  the  season,  and  that 
legree  of  fatigue  which  admitted  of  no  recuperation.  His  course 
once  ascertained,  his  force  was  such  as  might  be  controlled  readily 
by  that  of  Greene.  To  escape  this  danger  was  one  reason  for 
the  rapidity  of  his  march.  His  further  purpose  was  co-opera 
tion,  by  a  particular  day,  with  Colonel  Stewart,  who,  with  a 
large  detachment  and  convoy  of  provisions,  was  instructed, 
marching  from  Charleston,  via  Orangeburg,  to  meet  him  at 
Granby  by  the  third  of  July.  Cruger,  meanwhile,  was  already 
on  the  march  from  Ninety-Six,  and  directing  his  columns  for 
the  route  between  the  Edistos  on  the  way  to  Orangeburg. 

With  the  first  knowledge  of  the  course  taken  by  Rawdon, 
Greene's  army  was  put  in  motion  to  overtake  him.  At  Winns- 
borough,  the  American  general  disembarrassed  his  pursuit  of 
all  unnecessary  baggage,  of  everything  that  might  impede  his 
progress,  and,  under  the  command  of  General  Huger,  the  army 
pressed  forward  for  the  Congarees.  Greene,  himself,  with  a  small 
•iscort  of  cavalry  moving  in  advance  of  his  army,  with  special  ce 
lerity  in  the  hope  of  finding  the  command  of  Colonel  Washington 
(cavalry)  with  which,  and  other  resources,  he  meditated  a  special 
enterprise  against  the  convoy  and  re-enforcements  designed  for 
the  relief  of  Rawdon. 

The  latter,  alarmed  at  these  movements,  increased  the  celerity 
of  his  own,  and  reached  Granby  two  days  sooner  than  he  ex 
pected,  and  accordingly  long  before  Colonel  Stewart  could 
possibly  reach  the  same  place.  Intercepted  letters  had  apprized 
the  Americans  that  Stewart  could  not  make  the  junction  with 
his  superior  at  the  contemplated  time.  Meanwhile,  the  American 
cavalry,  in  which  arm  the  patriots  held  a  vast  superiority, 
had  suet  ceded  in  cutting  that  of  the  British  to  pieces,  a  disaster 


460  THE    FORAYERS. 

which  rendered  Rawdon  far  more  uneasy  and  apprehensiv* 
than  before.  Up  to  the  occurrence  of  this  event  his  policy  had 
been  adopted  to  establish  himself  upon  the  Congaiee,  circum 
scribing  his  operations  in  the  interior  to  the  space  comprised 
within  the  Edisto  to  the  west,  and  the  Congaree  and  Santee  to 
the  north  and  east.  But,  with  the  loss  of  his  cavalry,  the  failure 
to  procure  provisions  or  intelligence  —  for  the  foray ers  of  Marion 
and  Sumter  swept  all  the  highways — the  audacity  of  tlia 
American  cavalry,  the  rapid  approach  of  the  hostile  army,  and 
by  this  time  advised  of  the  inability  of  Stewart  to  meet  him  at 
the  time  appointed,  Lord  Rawdon  felt  that  the  power  was  no 
longer  in  his  hands  which  would  enable  him  to  choose  his  owu 
position.  It  became  necessary  that  he  should  press  down  to 
ward  Orangeburg  with  all  despatch,  if  he  would  save  his  de 
tachments,  or  escape  the  dangers  which  were  accumulating 
about  himself.  His  situation  was  becoming  desperate,  and  the 
forced  marches  which  he  was  required  to  undertake,  in  which 
so  many  of  his  troops  succumbed,  were  necessary  to  the  safety 
of  his  whole  force. 

To  place  himself  in  advance  of  Rawdon,  with  all  his  mounted 
men,  dart  below  and  strike  at  Stewart  and  his  convoy,  on  their 
advance  from  Charleston,  was  the  obvious  policy  of  Greene. 
Wanting  in  cavalry,  the  British  general  had  no  means  of  ar 
resting  or  retarding  this  progress,  for  the  proper  performance 
of  which  Greene  proceeded  to  put  all  his  resources  in  requisi 
tion.  Lee  was  to  hasten  to  a  junction  with  Washington,  and 
Sumter  and  Middleton  were  to  co-operate  in  the  same  object- — 
the  destruction  of  Stewart.  It  would  be  curious  to  the  military 
student,  and  highly  instructive,  to  see  how  these  plans,  well 
conceived  as  they  were,  all  ultimately  failed  ;  and  chiefly  through 
that  lack  of  method  and  due  subordination  of  the  agents  and 
accessories  to  the  principal,  which  is  the  chief  vice  in  militia 
and  volunteer  organizations.  Neither  Middleton  nor  Lee  joined 
Washington,  and  the  latter  employed  himself,  almost  unneces 
sarily,  in  front  of  Rawdon's  advance,  endeavoring  fruitlessly 
to  retard  his  march.  Sumter  was  engaged  above  in  .an  inde 
pendent  enterprise  on  the  Catawba,  and  when  Washington  was 
finally  diverted  from  harassing  the  march  of  Rawdon,  and 
sought  the  co-operation  of  M.'irion,  tlio  time  hud  passed.  Hut 


FLIGHT   FROM   HOLLY-DALE.  461 

we  must  not  anticipate.  Marion,  with  four  hundred  mounted 
men  made  liis  appearance  at  Washington's  headquarters  with 
wonlerful  promptness.  Greene  arrived  soon  after,  and  taking 
command  of  their  united  forces,  he  resolved  to  lead  the  enter 
prise  against  Stewart  in  person.  Pressing  down  the  Orangeburg 
road,  on  the  sixth  of  July,  he  succeeded  in  passing  Rawdon, 
and  reserving  to  himself  a  company  of  Washington's  cavalry, 
with  which  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  British  army,  he  des 
patched  Marion  with  his  mounted  men  to  the  encounter  with 
Stewart. 

This  brings  us  to  the  period  of  pause  in  our  story.  At  the 
moment,  therefore,  when  it  became  necessary  for  Mrs.  Travis 
and  her  daughter  to  quit  Holly-Dale,  six  separate  bodies  of 
troops,  each  considerable  in  number,  were  approaching  the 
precinct ;  the  purpose  of  all  being  equally  concentred  in  our 
little  village  of  Orangeburg.  Rawdon  and  Cruger  from  above- 
each  with  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  regular  troops,  the  latter 
accompanied  by  a  swarm  of  auxiliary  loyalists ;  Stewart  from 
below,  with  a  detachment  of  five  hundred,  the  strength  and 
utility  of  which  were  necessarily  curtailed  by  the  encumbrance 
of  a  lengthened  convoy ;  Marion's  and  Washington's  com 
mands  ;  the  main  army  of  the  Americans,  under  Huger,  follow 
ing  close  upon  the  heels  of  Rawdon  ;  while  Pickens,  with  a 
force  of  mounted  gun-men,  was  equally  earnest  in  pressing  upon- 
the  heels  of  Cruger.  These  details  will  sufficiently  answer  to 
show  the  reader  by  what  influences  the  action  of  our  dramatis 
personse  is  liable  to  be  controlled,  what  are  the  embarrassments 
before  them,  and  what  the  succoring  agencies  upon  which  they 
may  call,  in  the  moment  of  exigency.  They  will  also  explain 
the  urgency  of  that  necessity  which  required  Sinclair  to  make 
his  way  to  tlie  camp,  subduing  his  feelings,  and  foregoing  his 
own  purposes,  in  obedience  to  those  of  the  country. 

It  was  with  no  pleasant  emotions  that  he  prepared  to  depart 
from  the  pleasant  homestead  which  still  contained  for  him  so 
many  precious  associations.  Love  —  and,  dragoon  as  he  was, 
he  was  by  no  means  insensible  to  the  tenderest  infirmities  of 
that  all-subjugating  passion;  —  apprehension  —  for  how  could 
he  anticipate  the  events  which  were  to  occur,  of  annoyance 
or  positi  e  danger,  accompanying  the  doubtful  progress  of  hii 


462  THE   FORAYEKS. 

sweetheart  and  her  mother    across   the    country? <*i  'ef    , 

anxiety  for  tho  loss  and  absence  of  Henry  Travis,  of  whose 
fate  nothing  could  be  known  — these  were  sufficient  to  afflict 
And  render  our  major  of  dragoons  unhappy,  without  ever 
glancing  at  the  minor  cares  and  embarrassments  which  yet 
taxed  his  mind  and  increased  his  apprehensions  —  as,  for  ex 
ample,  the  progress  of  the  negroes  of  Travis,  under  the  guidance 
of  Abram.  True,  Abram  was  faithful,  and  shrewd  beyond  the 
usual  capacity  and  virtues  of  his  race;  but,  though  a  good 
scout,  he  was  a  poor  soldier,  and  the  only  calculations  which 
could  be  predicated  of  this  trust  must  rest  wholly  on  the  natural 
cunning  of  the  fellow,  his  fidelity,  and  perfect  knowledge  of  the. 
woods. 

Sinclair,  of  course,  used  all  his  resources  and  exercised  all 
his  forethought  in  order  to  meet  the  various  duties  before  him. 
His  jiancte  and  her  mother  he  intrusted  to  the  charge  of  one 
whom  he  knew  to  be  a  brave  and  good  soldier  and  a  noble  gen 
tleman  ;  in  respect  to  Henry  Travfc,  Jim  Ballon,  the  best  scout 
in  the  service,  was  upon  his  trail ;  and  he  had  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  'Bram  could  worm  his  way  across  the  country,  so  as  to 
escape  the  troops  of  Stewart  on  the  one  hand  and  the  forces  of 
R.iwdon  on  the  other.  These  were  the  chief  dangers  that 
threatened  to  cross  his  path.  Of  outlying  parties  of  the  tories 
.he  had  little  fear  whenever  the  main  armies  were  in  the  pre 
cinct.  On  such  occasions  the  forayers  usually  disappeared,  or 
melted  away,  and  became  merged  in  the  greater  masses;  as  is 
the  case  usually  with  outsiders,  or  third  parties  in  politics, 
when  an  election  (which  is  a  battle)  approaches.  At  all  events, 
whether  satisfied  with  his  arrangements  or  not,  Sinclair  was 
compelled  to  be  content  with  what  had  been  done,  and,  having 
given  his  last  instructions  to  St.  Julien,  to  prepare  for  his  own 
hurried  departure  for  camp.  A  select  troop  of  twenty-five 
men  was  left  with  St.  Julien,  while  the  residue,  somewhat 
swollen  by  recruits  from  the  troop  of  Inglehardt,  he  reserved 
for  his  own  command. 

It  was  a  trying  moment,  that  which  called  for  the  departure 
of  Sinclair  from  Holly-Dale.     Bertha  Travis  was  a  damsel  .of 
great  strength  of  character,  great  serenity  of  mood,  calm   ja 
tient,  resolute,  yet  loving  and  docile.    She  inherited  these 


PLIGHT    FBOM    HOLLY-DALE.  46S 

from  lier  mother.  Neither  of  them  gave  way  utterly  to  theii 
sorrows,  yet  felt  them  so  much  the  more  acutely.  They  had 
surely  sufficient  cause  to  mourn.  In  hjw  few  hours  had  their 
home  of  pleasantness  and  peace  been  changed  to  one  of  anxiety, 
grief,  and  apprehension.  Sinclair  could  fee"  for  them.  Per 
haps,  of  all  three,  he  showed  the  most  despondency  at  parting. 
The  first  burst  of  grief  over,  the  mother  grew  to  hope.  Hex- 
prayer  now  was  for  performance.  Could  she  be  doing  now  — 
could  i^he  engage  in  the  search  after  her  son  —  an  idea  that 
more  than  once  agitated  her  brain  —  she  would  have  been  easier 
in  spirit.  As  it  was,  she  could  only  implore  Sinclair  to  activity, 
and  he  —  he  could  only  promise,  with,  possibly,  so  many  men 
tal  reservations,  none  of  which  he  dared  to  express  —  that  the 
promise  might  well  be  regarded  as  a  dream.  But  he  did  prom 
ise,  and  with  the  full  purpose  to  perform.  He  was  no  laggard, 
no  sham  of  a  man ;  but  earnest,  daring,  resolute.  Be  sure  that 
he  will  attempt  —  do  if  possible — much  more  than  he  ever 
promises. 

And  Bertha  1  Oh !  how  calmly,  sweetly,  resignedly,  she 
murmured  her  farewell  upon  his  shoulder  —  in  hid  very  bosom 
It  might  be  the  last.  Poor  Bertha !  She  too  thought  to  be 
doing.  Oh  !  if  she  were  but  a  man  !  Yet  the  thought  as  she 
looked  upon  Sinclair,  seemed  something  worse  than  an  absurd 
ity.  Yet  she  schooled  it  into  a  subdued  desire  to  be  with  him 
—  to  see  him  perform  the  tasks  of  manhood  —  strike  for  her 
brother  —  rescue  the  dear  boy  from  the  enemy  —  from  his  mis 
erable  captivity.  It  was  the  prime  source  and  secret  of  her 
strength  and  calmness,  that  she  never  once  doubted  he  would 
do  this.  Oh  !  that  precious  faith  of  the  loving  young  heart  thnt 
confides  so  much  in  the  being  whom  it  loves  —  that  believes  him 
equal  to  all  emergencies  —  that  finds  heroism  in  his  look  and 
gesture,  and,  in  every  period  has  no  doubt  that  the  world  pos 
sesses  at  least  one  demigod. 

How  silent,  sad,  precious  sweet,  was  their  parting,  as  Sin 
clair  rode  off  with  his  troop  at  break  of  day. 

"Willie,"  was  the  murmur  of  the  dear  girl,  "oh!  Willie, 
remember  my  poor  mother.  She  looks  to  you." 

"  I  will  never  forget  her." 

Tha  last  words  of  the  mother:— 


464  THE   FORAYERS. 

•'Willie  Sinclair,  bring  me  back  my  boy  —  my  boy !" 

They  rang  in  the  ears  of  our  major  of  dragoons  at  every  stop 
which  increased  the  distance  between  him  and  Holly-Dale. 

And  he  was  gone  —  gone  from  sight  —  and  then,  in  the  soli 
tude  of  her  chamber,  Bertha  Travis  shed  bitter,  bitter  tears.  It 
was  only  with  his  departure  that  she  grew  hopeless.  But  the 
mother's  hopes  seemed  to  grow  with  his  absence. 

"  He  will  bring  Henry  back,"  she  murmured  to  Bertha,  in 
the  lowest  tones,  as  if  she  feared  that  the  walls  would  hear  and 
interpose. 

The  next  day,  in  the  stately  family  carriage,  drawn  by  fou. 
stout  blooded  bays,  and  driven  by  Cato,  of  great  frame  and 
bulk,  and  singular  in  the  possession  of  one  eye  only,  Mrs- 
Travis,  her  daughter  and  maid,  took  their  departure  from  Holly- 
Dale,  under  the  escort  of  St.  Julien.  We  must  not  at  present 
think  to  note  their  course,  or  follow  their  fortunes.  This  con 
cern  will  employ  us  possibly  hereafter.  Meanwhile,  even  then, 
the  advance  of  Cruger,  consisting  of  mounted  loyalists,  hungry 
and  sullen,  was  entering  the  territory  lying  between  the  two 
Edistos,  and  pressing  down .  toward  Orangeburg.  That  day, 
i)ld  Kit  Rowe  carried  of  the  chattels  which  he  had  purchased, 
under  secret  articles.  Three  nights  afterward  Holly-Dale  was 
in  aaben.  So  mrch  for  the  tender  mercies  of  the, 


THE   SCOUT— THE    FUGITIVES  —  THE  TRAIL. 


OHAPTEH   XL. 

THL    SCCJT  —  THE    FUGITIVES THE    TRAIL. 

JIM  BALLOU  swept  the  swamp  forest  tract  lying  between 
Holly-Dale  and  Four-Mile  creek,  with  the  close  and  eager  eye 
of  a  hawk.  Nothing  escaped  his  scrutiny.  lie  could  find  very 
decided  signs,  where  you  and  I  would  see  nothing  but  smooth 
surface.  We  can  not  detail  his  process,  or  follow  all  his  steps, 
or  note  the  thousand  minutise  which  drew  his  attention,  or  di 
verted  it,  as  he  sped.  It  will  suffice  if  we  mention  that  in  re 
viewing  the  route  over  which  the  scouting  party  had  gone  the 
night  before,  he  at  length  found  the  lay  where  Inglehardt  -had 
established  his  rendezvous,  and  on  the  edge  of  which,  where 
the  Trailer  had  held  Travis  in  durance  vile.  He  saw  that  some 
uses  had  been  made  of  the  place.  He  noted  where  the  steeds 
of  the  fugitives  had  been  fastened.  He  followed  the  course 
which  they  had  been  conducted  when  finally  carried  off,  until 
he  reached  the  creek,  and  under  the  fringy  willows  along  it; 
margin,  discovered  where  the  dugout  had  been  run  up,  with  hex 
nose  stuck  lightly  into  the  pliant  ooze  of  the  swamp.  He  iden 
tified  the  impression  as  the  same  with  that  made  by  the  dugout 
at  Holly-Dale.  He  had  thus  gained  one  step.  He  did  not  lose 
it.  He  now  noted  all  the  impressions  of  the  miry  tract  about 
him.  He  found  where  the  horses  had  been  led  down  to  the 
spot  where  the  creek  enters  the  river,  and  into  the  river  when 
made  to  swim  or  wade  across  beside  the  boat.  He  examined 
especially  the  tracks  of  the  horses.  Each  one  was  found  to  have 
some  distinguishing  mark  by  which  it  could  be  tracked  hereafter 
In  one  iii  particular,  a  fragment  of  the  shoe  was  gone.  In  an 
other,  the  rivet  was  awkwardly  curled  and  obtrusive  ;  in  a  third, 
a  nail  was  wanting.  He  so  studied  each  that  recognition  would 
instantly  follow  his  encounter  with  them  on  any  future  occasion 

20* 


466  THE   FORAYERS. 

He  found  the  tracks  of  Inglehardt  and  the  negro  boy  Julius, 
arid  there  were  the  huge  feet,  broad  as  an  elephant's,  of  Devii 
Dick,  and  there  were  the  long  narrow  footprints  of  the  Trailer. 

"  Got  'em  all  here  [  —  all  here  !"  said  the  soliloquizing  scout, 
with  a  chuckle  of  sal  isfaction.  "  If  I  could  only  keep  'em  now ! 
They've  crossed!  that's  clear — for  they  couldr't  be  taking  the 
nags  down  stream  nor  up.  They've  crossed  !  And  good  reason 
for  it  too  —  good  reason.  This  side  the  river  was  too  hot  for  'em. 
Well,  they've  crossed.  But  do  they  stick  there!  That's  the 
question  —  question.  I  must  nose  'em  out  before  I  walk  into 
their  camp— -  nose  'em  out  \  Must  wait  till  dark  —  dark;  then 
swhn  across  —  swim. —  put  in  a  leetle  above  —  then  snake  down 
upon  'em — snake  down  from  above.  I  see  just  where  to  put 
in — just ;  the  old  ford  will  answer.  But  shall  I  want  my  horse? 
I  reckon.  They'll  put  out,  and  I  must  after  'em.  Yes,  must 
have  the  horse.  So  !  we'll  see  if  nobody's  found  the  old  fellow 
out  in  his  hiding-place.  Found  him  out.  We'll  take  the  ford, 
hide  the  critter  above,  snake  down  and  nose  'em  out.  Got  their 
measure  —  all.  Devil  Dick's  foot,  Inglehardt's,  Trailer's,  nig 
ger's.  Must  see  I  don't  find  'em  too  sudden.  Four  to  one  — 
four.  But  I  can  snake  Jem.  It's  only  a  fool  nigger  that  grunts 
as  lie  goes  —  hog  fashion  —  grunts  as  he  goes.  The  dog  that 
hunts  the  deer  has  a  reason  for  giving  tongue :  but  where  its 
wolf  or  tiger,  set  the  teeth  down,  fast  as  a  trap,  even  if  you  bite 
off  the  tongue.  Snake  down,  and  nose  close ;  nose  close  and 
snake  down.  Got  the  measure  of  every  rascal's  foot  in  all  the 
gang  —  every  rascal's  foot." 

We  suppose  that  everybody  can  gather  Ballou's  policy  from 
his  soliloquy.  He  resolved  upon  his  course,  while  gazing  from 
close  covert,  a  little  before  sunset,  across  the  Edisto  to  the 
point  opposite  the  mouth  of  Four-Mile  Branch.  He  noted  with 
understanding  eye,  every  detail  which  might  possibly  affect  In8 
future  operations. 

"  They've  struck  inside  that  bank  t'other  side.  They've 
pushed  for  the  close  thicket  behind  i*  There's  a  great  dead 
cypress  just  over  it,  with  one  big  arm  p'inting  out  down  the 
river.  I  must  look  out  for  that  cypress.  It  stands  just  over  a 
mighty  big  laurel,  and  I  reckon  its  sandy  and  swampy  about 
all  hammocky.  Good  for  snaking." 


THE   SCOUT  —  THE    FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.          4G? 

A  couple  of  hours  enabled  him  to  find  his  horse  in  the  thicket 
where  he  had  hidden  him,  and  afforded  him  the  darkness  requisite 
for  his  safe  progress  across  the  river.  Fastening  his  horse  in  the 
swamp  over  a  mile  above  the  place  of  supposed  harborage  of  the 
fugitives  and  their  captives,  Ballou  proceeded  to  "snake  down" 
upon  their  camp. 

His  calculations  had  proved  correct  in  most  particulars.  He 
found  his  dead  cypress,  his  living  laurel,  his  hammocky  harboring 
places,  and  the  spot  where  the  horses  had  been  landed.  But 
the  birds  had  flown.  Their  nests  were  all  warm  —  the  trail  was 
fresh  — "hot"  as  Ballou  phrased  it  — but  they  themselves  had 
disappeared.  Ballou  slept  that  night  in  the  camp  which  they 
had  deserted.  The  further  pursuit  of  his  game  required  day 
light.  ' 

With  the  dawn  he  was  at  work  on  hands  and  knees,  identifying 
the  tracks  of  the  fugitives.  He  found  them  all ;  found  the  traces  of 
two  boats  upon  the  bank  instead  of  one,  and  traced  the  course  of 
the  horses  for  a  hundred  yards  up  the  river.  He  then  began  to 
reason  out  the  logical  issues  from  his  facts. 

A  good  scout  is  a  good  logician.  His  premises  found,  he  will 
work  out  the  results  in  a  manner  to  put  to  shame  half  the  lawyers  in 
the  land.  Ballou  said  :  — 

"Now,  we  have  'em  again,  certain.  If  we  can  only  keep  'em 
now.  What  was  they  to  do?  Here  was  Willie  Sinclair  dash 
ing  down  with  a  smart  troop  upon  Orangeburg ;  another  party 
up  at  Holly-Dale:  there  was  no  safety  up  or, down  for  a  mat 
ter  of  five  miles.  A  party  of  four  can't  stop  long,  with  an 
inimy's  troop  each  side  of  'em.  They've  dropped  below,  most 
of  'em,  in  the  canoes,  and  gone  down  from  ten  to  twenty  miles. 
They've  made  a  fetch  round  Oraugeburg  with  the  horses,  and 
I  reckon  two  men's  carried  them  round,  and  two  have  gone 
down  with  the  prisoners.  They've  just  gone  fur  enough  to  be 
out  of  reach  from  a  dash,  and  not  too  fur  for  the  men  that  have 
the  horses  to  get  to  them  by  daylight.  That's  not  more  than 
ten  miles  I  reckon.  Then  they've  land'  i  on  this  side ;  for  you 
sec,  they  won't  want  to  be  crossing  the  horses  to  t'other  side; 
there's  no  sense  in  taking  such  useless  trouble;  and  then,  it's 
natural  sense  and  reason  that  Ingleiardt  will  be  for  keeping  this 
side,  where  he  can  soonest  make  Orangeburg,  and  be  safest  out- 


468  THE  FORAYERS. 

of  the  way  of  Coulter,  ten  miles  below.  They  could  drop  down 
there  in  three  hours  easy.  They've  made  their  calculations. 
I  reckon  they  cut  loose  three  hours  before  daylight.  They've 
got  a  day's  start  of  me.  Well !  It's  to  be  done.  I  must  fol 
low  the  horses,  for  a  boat  leaves  so  narrow  a  trail  on  the  water 
that  it's  mighty  hard  to  find  it  in  hot  weather  —  in  hot  weather/1 

And  he  took  the  track  of  the  horses. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  as  he  noted  the  course  thus  pursued  by  the 
Fugitives,  and  how  nigh  it  had  taken  them  to  Orangeburg  — 
"  Lord  !  if  Willie  Sinclair  had  only  knowd  what  I  know  !  How 
he  could  ha'  gobbled  'em  up  —  ever)  rr  other's  son  of  'em.  Only 
half  a  mile  from  the  village,  sneaking  round,  just,  I  reckon, 
when  he  was  a  gutting  it !  Oh  !  the  blindness  of  these  dragoon 
soldiers.  They're  fit  for  nothing  but  a  charge  —  nothing  but  a 


And,  soliloquizing  at  every  half  turn,  our  scout  stole  forward 
through  swamp  and  thicket,  never  once  losing  the  trail  upon 
which  he  had"  fastened,  until  it  led  him  into  the  deepest  swamps 
of  the  river  about  ten  miles  below  the  village.  As  soon  as  he 
found  the  trail  turning  certainly  down  to  the  river,  he  sought 
out  a  close  thicket  and  harbored  his  horse  securely.  The  rest 
of  his  scrutiny  in  the  precinct  required  to  be  pursued  on  foot. 
He  had  not  once  lost  the  trail.  It  led  him  to  the  river's  edge. 
He  saw  where  the  two  boats  had  left  the  measure  of  their 
prows  upon  the  banks.  He  noted  once  more  the  footsteps  of 
the  party.  But  the  camp  was  again  deserted.  The  fugitives 
were  vigilant.  He  followed  their  progress  upward  to  the  high 
land —  saw  where  they  had  passed  into  the  main  road  —  one 
of  the  avenues  from  Charleston  to  the  village  —  and  where 
they  were  lost,  utterly  indistinguishable  from  the  thousand 
tracks  of  horse,  and  mule,  and  cattle,  man  and  beast,  which 
makes  of  the  route  through  a  light  soil  in  the  piney  regions,  a 
mere  sinuous  stripe  of  sand,  in  which  one  impression  with  the 
help  of  the  breeze  rapidly  effaces  another.  Inglehardt  and  his 
party  were  no  doubt  somewhere  abroad  in  the  world  of  space 
and  swamp  and  forest,  but  where  ?  Our  scout  no  doubt  sum 
moned  up  the  echoes  to  his  soliloquy,  but  he  did  not  look  to 
them  for  his  response.  He  had  once  more  to  look  to  his  logic. 

Meanwhile,  let  us  look  back,  and  endeavor  to  supply  the  do 


THE   SCOUT  —  THE   FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.  469 

tails  which  our  scout,  with  all  his  sagacity,  could  not  altogethei 
grasp  in  his  conjectures  with  regard  to  the  progress  of  the  fu 
gitives.  When  Inglehardt  and  his  party  were  all  safely  landed 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  the  night  when  they  were  so 
closely  pressed  by  Sinclair's  scouts,  he  at  once  called  his  com 
panions  into  consultation.  The  result  of  this  conversation,  was 
to  put  their  captives  into  their  two  boats  —  one  having  been 
found  on  the  opposite  shore.  The  father  and  son,  equally  ig 
norant  of  each  other's  condition  were  still  kept  apart,  and  placed 
in  separate  vessels.  In  one  of  these  Inglehardt  bestowed  him 
self  j  the  other  was  confided  to  Dick  of  Tophet.  To  the  Trailer 
and  Julius, the  negro, were  allotted  the  task  of  bringing  down 
the  horses.  Armed  each  with  a  paddle,  Inglehardt  and  Dick 
set  their  skiffs  in  motion.  The  labor  was  small,  the  paddle 
being  used  rather  to  guide  than  to  work  the  vessels,  the  current 
propelling  them  downward  at  an  average  rate  of  four  miles  an 
Irour.  They  reached  a  point  agreed  on,  some  time  before  the 
Trailer  and  his  horses,  landed  themselves  and  their  captives, 
the  latter  still  kept  separate,  and  suffered  the  boats  to  make 
their  farther  way  down  stream  as  they  might.  They  housed 
themselves  in  a  thicket,  laid  their  captives  in  silence  under  sep 
arate  trees,  and  stretched  themselves  out  for  rest  if  not  foi 
slumber.  It  was  an  hour  after  daylight  before  the  Trailer 
made  his  appearance,  with  Julius  and  the  horses. 

It  was  with  a  stubborn  silence,  and  the  noble  fortitude  of  a 
soldier,  not  unprepared  for  reverses,  that  Captain  Travis  bore 
up  under  his  captivity,  and  during  the  long  period  of  humilia 
tion,  when,  no  longer  a  free  agent  in  any  respect,  kept  in  com 
plete  ignorance  of  any  of  the  facts  in  his  condition  except  his 
captivity,  and  capable  of  only  imperfect  conjectures  as  to  his 
whereabouts  —  he  was  treated  more  like  a  bale  of  luggage  than 
a  human  and  intelligent  being  —  lifted  from  boat  to  shore,  from 
shore  to  boat,  from  boat  to  shore  again,  and  tumbled  carelessly 
from  stalwart  shoulders  upon  the  ground  to  brood  in  silence 
upon  his  painful  situation,  his  limbs  all  stiffened  and  sore  from 
restraint,  and  his  flesh  irritated  with  the  cords  that  threatened 
to  cut  into  it.  His  pride  suffered  him  to  offer  no  remonstrance. 
His  knowledge  of  his  captors  taught  him  that  it  would  be  idle. 
He  had  but  to  endure  Avith  all  the  philosophy  and  fortitude 


470 


THE   FOIiAYERS. 


within  his  command.  He  was  sustained  by  the  conviction 
which  he  felt,  that,  though  he  himself  was  a  loser  in  the  game, 
his  enemy  was  yet  foiled  in  his  attempts  upon  his  daughter, 
Rutledge,  and  Willie  Sinclair.  He  exulted,  in  his  bonds,  at  the 
idea  that  Inglehardt  had  experienced  a  mortifying  defeat,  with 
the  loss  of  nearly  all  his  troop.  This  conviction  could  not  be 
a  mistaken  one.  The  stealthy  progress  of  his  captor,  his  isola 
tion,  want  of  means  and  followers,  all  led  him  to  the  true  con 
clusion.  So  far,  he  was  consoled ;  nay,  held  himself  a  gainer 
by  the  result,  though  he  had  lost  his  own  point  in  the  game. 
He  did  not  yet  know  all ! 

The  boy  too,  Henry  Travis,  was  sustained  beyond  his 
strength  and  years,  by  the  consciousness  of  the  first  develop 
ment  of  his  powers  ;  by  the  pride  of  his  incipient  mannishness  ; 
by  a  resolute  determination  not  to  suffer  his  enemies  to  discern 
that  his  young  heart  was  sore,  and  his  young  soul  apprehensive. 
He  tasked  his  thought  momently  to  teach  him  how  to  endure 
bravely,  and  to  defy  his  captors  to  the  last.  He  was  resolved 
to  play  the  soldier  in  the  captive. 

But  he  felt  his  constraint  in  pain.  His  bonds  hurt  his  limbs; 
his  position  fevered  him ;  his  sinews  were  not  yet  hardened  for 
endurance,  and  his  heart  suffered  in  sympathy  with  his  body. 
It  required  all  his  ambitious  thoughts  and  courage  to  keep  him 
from  the  displays  of  weakness  which  he  felt ;  and  when  ho 
happened  to  think  of  his  mother,  and  her  grief  and  apprehen 
sion,  the  tears  rose  into  his  eyes;  his  heart  filled ;  he  felt  like 
choking  with  his  sobs !  But  he  choked  them  down.  He  would 
not  have  his  enemy  exult  in  his  sufferings.  He  strove  to  think 
of  Willie  Sinclair  and  his  hardihood,  and  his  teachings  ;  of  his 
daring  valor ;  the  sweep  of  his  great  broadsword ;  and  that 
fierce  cry  of  exulting  rage  with  which  he  led  the  charge  against 
the  enemy,  the  first  that  the  boy  had  ever  witnessed;  and  his 
young  soul  beat  and  bounded  with  the  thought : — 

"Oh!  if  Willie  Sinclair  would  but  come!"  But  this  soon 
subsided  to  another  that  brought  back  all  his  weakness : — 

"  My  poor  mother  !  She  does  not  know  what  has  happened 
to  me.  She  will  think  they  have  killed  me.  My  poor,  poo' 
mother !' 

He  as  little  dreamed  of  his  father's  condition,  so  near  him, 


THE   SCOUT  —  THE    FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.  47i 


fettered  like  himself,  as  the  father  dreamed  of  his  !     And 
strength  to  endure  was  in  part  due  to  their  mutual  ignorance. 

And  both  slept  in  the  brief  hour  that  they  lay  beneath  the 
trees  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  while  Inglehardt  waited  for  the 
appearance  of  the  Trailer  with  the  horses.  They  slept  from 
exhaustion.  For  that  brief  interval  they  forgot  their  pain  arid 
captivity.  Their  instincts  never  once  taught  them,  that,  not 
twenty  feet  apart,  they  lay  opposite  to  each  other. 

Their  captors  were  the  first  to  awaken.  It  is  possible  that 
they  had  not  slept  at  all  They  were  bustling  about  when 
Travis  first  opened  his  eyes.  He  saw  Inglehardt  coming  up 
from  the  river  where  he  had  been  bathing;  he  was  only  half 
dressed,  and  was  rubbing  head  and  face  with  a  towel.  Dick 
of  Tophet  was  counting  bullets  from  one  hand  to  .the  other. 
They  chatted  together  at  a  short  distance  from  their  captives. 

Seeing  but  these,  Captain  Travis  closed  his  eyes  again  as  if 
to  shut  out  a  disagreeable  prospect.  But  he  soon  reopened 
them  on  hearing  a  wild  cry  from  the  foot  of  the  great  red  oak 
in  front  of  him.  He  had  raised  his  head  to  look  around  him. 
At  that  moment  Henry  Travis  opened  his'  eyes  and  gazed  about 
ths  scene  confusedly.  His  sense  seemed  to  take  in  his  situation 
slowly.  He  stared  at  his  father  with  bewildering  sensations, 
closed  his  eyes  again,  again  opened  them  —  then,  as  if  he  had 
finally  grasped  the  fact  fairly,  he  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  anguish, 

"  Oh  !  father,  have  they  got  you  too  ?" 

The  father  again  raised  his  head,  and  made  a  desperate  effort 
to  raise  himself  up,  writhed  violently  in  his  bonds,  and  sunk 
back.  He  could  only  murmur  — 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  Oh  !  God  be  merciful  !  My  son  !  my 
son  !" 

The  son  again  spoke  :  — 

"  Father  !  are  you  tied  like  me  V1 

The  person  addressed  writhed  once  more  in  his  bonds,  making 
a  powerful  effort  to  free  his  arms. 

"  'Twon't  do,  eappin,"  said  Dick  of  Tophet,  jeeringly,  as  he 
drew  nigh,  "  'twon't  do.  The  hitch  is  too  good  and  the  line 
too  strong,  for  a  small  man.  Ef  you  was  a  young  Samson 
now,  you  might  work  through  it;  but  you  ain't  what  you  was 
-iveiity  years  ago,  and  I  reckon  you  never  was  much  in  hefl  and 


472  THE   FORAYERS. 

sinew.  Better  take  it  easily,  for  a  plough-line  is  mighty  cut 
ting  ef  you  works  much  agin  it." 

"Villain,  why  do  you  tie  that  child?"  was  the  howl  rather 
than  the  speech  of  the  father. 

"Child!"  said  Dick;  "he's  a  blasted  for'ard  one,  if  he's  a 
child ;  and  leetle  cocksparrow  as  he  is,  I  reckon  he  tumbled 

more  than  one  good  fellow,  with  his  d d  little  shooting-irons 

yesterday.  Child !  Blast  my  daylights,  ef  he  didn't  come 
mighty  nigh  to  knocking  daylight  out  of  my  own  eyes  mtirely 
yesterday." 

"And  if  he  had,  'twould  have  saved  the  rope  a  burden  and  a 
task  hereafter.  But  where's  your  master  —  where's  Inglehardt  ? 
—  put  him  before  me,  that  I  may  speak  to  his  base  soul  touch 
ing  the  cruel  usage  of  that  boy." 

"  Good  morning,  Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt  in  his 
quietest  and  mildest  tones,  now  emerging  from  the  rear  — "  I 
im  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  bright  this  morning,  after  your 
atigues  of  the  night  and  the  day  before.  When  I  reflect  that 
you  have  had  nothing  to  eat  since  yesterday  at  breakfast,  and 
lave  been  ever  since  in  rather  a  constrained  position,  it  is  won- 
lerful  to  me  how  elastic  you  appear.  Excuse  me  that  the 
necessities  of  the  service  have  not  suffered  me  to  provide  the 
necessary  creature  comforts.  But  you  will  forgive  me  Avheu 
you  learn  that  I  need  them  quite  as  much  as  yourself.  How 
ever,  we  shall  shortly  have  a  little  breakfast,  and  that  will  put 
us  in  better  condition  for  travel.  That  you  have  not  suffered 
relieves  me  greatly.  It  is  perfectly  delightful  to  see  how  fresh 
you  are  this  morning  !" 

"  Inglehardt,"  said  Travis,  with  hoarse  and  choking  accents 
— "  we  are  enemies,  that  I  understand ;  /  am  in  your  power. 
For  myself,  I  have  no  plea  to  make,  no  prayer  to  offer ;  but 
why  have  you  made  a  prisoner  of  that  boy  —  that  mere  child 
—  torn  him  from  his  mother  —  roped  his  little  limbs,  like  a 
felon  r 

"  Child !  Rather  a  stout  child,  Travis,  and  shoots  a  pistol 
like  a  buccaneer.  You  disparage  the  son  of  your  loins — your 
first-born  !" 

"He  is  a  child — but  fifteen!  Release  him,  Inglehardt — 
let  him  go  to  his  mother.  As  a  man  you  should  feel  sharno 


THE   SCOUT  —  THE    FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.  473 

only  iii  subjecting  him  to  such  treatment.  Of  what  ULG  keep 
him.  I  pledge  myself  that  ho  will  return  quietly  to  his  mother. 
For  myself,  I  ask  nothing.  1  submit  to  my  fate." 

"It  is  verily  a  good  spirit  —  that  of  resignation,  and  the 
more  you  exercise  it,  Travis,  the  better.  You  are  in  a  bad 
way.  You  played  bravely,  fearlessly,  and  with  excellent  skill. 
You  have  lost,  and  the  stakes  are  forfeited.  Your  life  was  on 
the  game,  Travis !" 

"  No  matter  about  my  life  !  The  boy  !  the  boy  !  He  has 
played  no  such  game.  He  has  incurred  no  such  penalties, 
Release  him  —  send  him  home.  It  is  the  shame  of  manhood 
that  his  tender  limbs  are  thus  corded." 

"  You  mistake,  Travis.  He,  too,  has  had  his  game  —  has 
probably  the  life  of  one  or  more  men  to  answer  for.  His 
stakes  are  also  forfeit ;  but  these  do  not  involve  his  life.  He 
must  undergo  the  fate  of  all  prisoners  —  must  wait  exchange. 
But,  farther,  he  is  no  prisoner  of  mine.  Mr.  Andrews,  there,  is 
his  captor." 

"  Pshaw !  You  do  not  mean  to  impose  upon  me  the  sill} 
idea  that  the  private  of  a  troop  exercises  a  discretion  on  such  a 
subject  independently  of  his  superior  ]" 

"  You  may  believe  what  you  please.  It  is  enough  to  repeat 
that  Mr.  Andrews  is  not  in  my  troop,  and  exercises  his  own 
discretion  in  his  adventures.  His  accountability  is  elsewhere. 
The  boy  is  his  prisoner." 

"  Ay,  but  you  can  move  him,  Inglehardt,  to  do  your  pleasure 
rather  than  his  own." 

"  Humph  !  perhaps  ;  but  I  see  not  that  the  claims  of  Captain 
Travis,  or  any  of  his  family,  are  sufficiently  strong  to  make  it 
my  pleasure  to  gratify  their  wishes." 

"Good  God!  Inglehardt,"  said  the  other,  now  beginning  to 
comprehend  his  enemy,  "  can  it  be  that  you  look  to  the  deten 
tion  of  that  child  as  one  of  the  means  by  which  to  gratify  your 
purposes  ?" 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Captain  Travis,  my  purposes  are  all  very 
innocent.  I  trust  to  make  it  equally  your  pleasure  and  policy 
to  see  that  they  are  gratified." 

''  Great  God  !  have  I  lived  for  this  ?     My  boy  !  my  boy  !" 

Such  was  the  ejaculation,  hoarse  and  convulsive,  of  the  fa 


474  THE  FORAYE11S. 

.her,  as,  half-i  Bawling  and  haii-roliing,  both  arms  and  legs  being 
aghtiy  corded,  the  boy  scrambled  over  the  space  that  separated 
the  two,  and  flung  himself  moaning  into  his  father's  lap.  Nc 
cJa&p — no  embrace — no  caresses,  awaited-  him.  The  limbs  of 
Travis  were  as  tightly  fettered  as  his  own  ;  but  he  stooped 
over,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  the  cheeks  and  forehead  of  the 
boj ,  then  burst  into  a  sobbing  convulsion.  The  hard  man  was 
terribly  softened.  Dick  of  Tophet  looked  inquiringly  at  Ingle- 
hardt.  The  latter  smiled  faintly  and  turned  away,  walking 
silently  out  toward  the  high  ground.  The  ruffian  followed  him, 
after  a  brief  pause,  with  hurried  steps,  and  the  two  conferred 
together  out  of  hearing  of  the  captives. 

"I  say,  cappin,"  began  Joel  Andrews  — "I  reckon  there's 
to  use  in  keeping  the  boy,  since  you've  got  the  father.  He's 
only  a  trouble,  and  always  in  the  way." 

'•'  Eh  1  what  1     No  use  !     My  good  fellow,  you  have  no  idea 
of  the  uses  of  useless  things.     We'll  make  him  very  useful.' 
"  I  don't  see  how,  cappin." 

"  Eh  !  you  don't  ?  You  will  open  your  eyes  to  a  discovery 
then  before  very  long.  Why,  man,  don't  you  already  see  how 
the  father  softens?  Before  he  saw  the  boy  he  was  stubborn 
as  ;  ^ock :  now  he  melts  and  flows  like  running  water." 

"But  wWs  the  use  of  his  melting  to  us?  We've  got  him, 
and  kin  always  manage  to  make  his  rock  melt — " 

"  Ay,  so  long  as  we  keep  the  son.  Enough,  Dick ;  you  seem 
wonderfully  disposed  to  melt  yourself.  But  .we  can't  afford  it, 
Dick.  We  must  keep  all  our  captives,  big  and  little.  They 
are  so  much  capital  for  both  of  us.  It'll  make  the  boy  strong 
and  hardy  to  give  him  a  little  training  as  a  prisoner;  and  you 
see  he  wishes  to  be  a  soldier.  No  school  like  adversity  for 
that,  Dick.  As  for  the  father  —  d — n  him  !  —  the  melting  pro-' 
••u'.ss  must  begin  now  or  never.  We  can  not  manage  him  else. 
I  tell  you,  we  must  coin  his  heart  up,  drop  by  drop. —  all  the 
blood  in  it  —  .ill  we  bring  him  to  a  sensible  condition.  Through 
tnat  boy  we  subdue  him.  His  ransom  will  pay  you  well;  the 
father's  will  pay  me.  You  shall  know  hereafter  how  we  shalj 
manage  it." 

Dick  of  Tophet  still   looked   inquiringly,  but  his  superior 
seemed  nowise  disposed  to  continue  the  subject.     It  was  not 


THE  SCOUT  —  THE   FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.  475* 

'often  that  Inglehardt  permitted  himself  to  swear,  and  the  fact 
of  his  having  done  so,  struck  the  ruffian  with  some  surprise.  He 
could  now  perceive  that  there  were  mixed  motives  and  emotions 
at  work  prompting  Inglehardt  to  measures,  in  respect  to  the 
iwo  captives,  for  which  he  could  not  definitely  account.  Dick 
of  Tophet  turned  back  to  the  prisoners,  between  whom,  mean 
while,  a  long  and  touching  conversation  had  taken  place,  which 
the  approach  of  the  ruffian  interrupted.  But  he,  appearing  to 
see  this,  continued  his  walk  to  the  river,  and  the  two  resumed 
their  speech.  The  boy  had  given  his  father  a  full  account,  as 
far  as  he  had  arrived  at  the  particulars,  of  all  that  had  taken 
place  at  Holly-Dale.  There  was  much  that  he  did  not  know, 
but  he  could  speak  positively  of  the  general  result  of  the  affair. 
Old  Travis  was  confirmed  in  his  belief  that  Inglehardt  had  been 
defeated,  and  that  Rutledge  and  Sinclair  had  not  only  escaped 
the  snare,  but  had  turned  the  petard  of  the  tory-captain  upon 
himself. 

"  And,  oh !  father,  if  you  could  have  seen  how  we  made  'em 
skip.  You  should  have  seen  our  charge  !  How  we  camo 
down  upon  'em,  and  scattered  them  every  waj  !  They've  got 
us,  it's  true,  but  that's  all !  I  don't  think  that  Inglehardt's 
got  half  a  dozen  men  left.  The  dragoons  of  Willie  Sinclair 
cut  'em  down,  right  and  left,  just  as  the  hurricane  throws  the 
trees." 

"  Oh  !  my  son,  you  forget  that  Inglehardt  has  a  full  corps  of 
mounted-riflemen  now  in  Rawdon's  army.  They'll  be  down 
before  long,  and  then  he'll  be  stronger  than  ever." 

"  But  they'll  have  to  exchange  us,  father.  Willie  Sinclair 
will  see  to  that.  He's  got  enough  of  the  tories  in  his  hands  to 
exchange  for  us  a  dozen  times  over." 

Travis  shook  his  head  despondingly.  He  saw  what  the  L.y 
could  not.  He  rightly  conjectured  the  policy  of  the  tory-cap 
tain,  and  was  about  to*  deliver  it,  when  he  reflected  that  it 
would  only  serve  unnecessarily  to  dishearten  the  child,  and 
add  the  anxieties  of  a  new  doubt  to  a  condition  already  suffi 
ciently  depressing.  The  tearful  eyes  of  the  boy  looking  up 
into  his  own,  the  tremulous  eagerness  of  his  lip,  the  soft,  girl 
ish  delicacy  of  his  cheek,  its  peachy  hue  —  all  expressive  of  in 
xiocence  and  gentleness,  such  as  we  seek  to  protect  fron)  liars1* 


476  THE   FORAYEUS. 

encounter  and  biting  winds  —  made  the  father  careful  to  smw^  • 
and  encourage  rather  than  depress  his  hope,  and  he  said  : — 

"  Yes,  Henry,  there  can  be  no  question  but  that  Willie  Sin 
clair  will  soon  relieve  us.  But  you  must  now  take  your  rea>, 
lessons  as  a  soldier.  You  must  expect  some  trials  of  your 
strength  and  courage.  Be  of  good  cheer,  and  do  not  suffer  any 
thing  you  «ee  or  hear  to  alarm  you.  We  are  in  rough  hands, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  arts  of  such  people  to  overcome  the  souls  of 
their  captives  —  their  principles  —  through  their  fears.  Keep 
a  stout  heart,  and  bear  manfully  your  troubles." 

"  Oh  !  father,  if  you  had  seen  me  when  we  made  the  rush  or. 
them  fellows  !  Why,  when  I  heard  the  bugle  sound,  and  the 
cry  of  our  lieutenant  to  charge,  I  had  no  more  fear  —  I  thought 
only  how  to  get  a-head  of  the  rest." 

"  Ah  !  my  son,  it  is  easier  to  face  an  enemy,  with  the  bugles 
blowing  in  one's  ears  than  to  endure  bonds.  The  charge  warms 
the  blood,  but  cords  and  chains  chill  and  enfeeble  it." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  Oh  !  my  father.  I  never  felt  how  sweet 
freedom  was,  till  these  cords  were  on  my  wrists  and  legs !" 

The  approaching  tramp  of  horses  silenced  the  conversation. 
Anon,  Dick  of  Tophet  was  seen  speeding  up  from  the  river. 
He  joined  Inglehardt  on  the  higher  land,  where  he  was  await 
ing  the  Trailer  and  Julius  who  soon  appeared  through  the  trees 
bringing  the  horses.  He  brought  a  basket  of  provisions,  baked 
biscuit  of  corn,  the  fragment  of  a  boiled  ham,  and  half-a-dozen 
eggs,  boiled  hard,  with  a  morsel  of  salt  in  a  paper.  These  he 
had  picked  up  somewhere  on  the  route,  at  the  house  of  some 
friendly  tory.  It  is  just  probable  that  the  prog  may  have  been 
stolen  from  the  cupboard  of  some  doubtful  patriot. 

It  was  no  intention  of  Inglehardt  to  starve  his  captives.  A 
portion  of  the  breakfast  was  assigned  them,  and  the  cords  were 
taken  from  their  hands  while  they  ate. 

"  Eat,  Henry,"  said  the  father,  seeing  the  boy  disinclined, 
1  a  good  stomach  is  necessary  to  a  captive.  Eat !  you  will  need 
all  your  strength." 

And  he  set  the  boy  an  example  of  good  trencher  service. 
While  they  ate,  Julius,  the  negro-boy,  stood  watching  them 
from  a  little  distance.  The  runaway  felt  some  twinges  of  con 
science  at  beholding  them.  They  both  saw  him,  but  as  if  by 


THE   SCOUT  —  THE    FUGITIVES  —  THE   TRAIL.  47T 

*nrit  understanding,  they  made  no  remark.  When  the  iepas^ 
was  over,  and  the  horses  made  ready  for  a  new  start — Dicko 
Tophet  said,  with  an  air  of  ruffianly  indifference  : — 

"I  reckon,  cappin,  we  needn't  cord  up  the  prisoners,  ef  »o 
be  they'll  only  give  their  word  of  honor,  that  they  won't  try  t* 
git  off." 

But  Inglehardt  preferred  the  security  of  cords  to  words.  HP 
did  not,  however,  answer  the  suggestion  in  the  hearing  of  the 
•aptives.  There  was  a  feeling  of  shame,  perhaps,  that  made 
him  silent.  Apart  from  them,  he  replied  to  Andrews  : — 

"  We  mast  risk  nothing.  Travis  is  a  sly  rascal.  He  won'* 
feel  bound  by  any  pledges  to  us.  He'll  argue  that  we  have  no 
right  to  exact  them.  Besides,  Dick,  we've  got  to  melt  the  rock 
you  remember.  To  bring  Travis  to  the  right  condition  of  mind. 
I  must  make  him  very  fearful.  I  must  bring  him  to  his  knees 
through  his  terrors." 

"But  the  boy—" 

"  It  is  only  through  the  boy  that  we  can  work  upon  the 
father's  terrors.  He  has  no  fears  for  himself.  We  must  make 
him  fearful  for  the  boy.  Remember  that,  Dick.  You  must 
t3econd  me  in  waking  up  his  fears." 

Dick  of  Tophet,  ruffian  as  he  was,  was  a  little  at  a  loss  to 
see  how  this  was  to  be  done ;  but  he  was  not  willing  that  his 
superior  should  suppose  him  inexperienced  and  ignorant. 

"  Oh  !  very  well.  Only  jest  you  say  what's  got  to  be  done. 
That's  all." 

"  At  present,  we  have  only  got  to  secure  them  on  horseback. 
Mount  them  with  free  legs  and  then  tie  the  legs  fast  under  the 
belly  of  the  horse.  We  can  guide  the  horsoS  for  them." 

And  in  this  fashion  the  two  captives  were  mounted.  Travis 
expostulated  in  behalf  of  his  son  ;  pledged  himself  that  the  boy 
would  not  attempt  escape,  but  he  was  not  listened  to.  Ingle 
hardt  rode  on  a-head.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  commissary  de 
manded  an  interview  with  his  old  associate. 

They  were  gone  from  the  scene,  as  we  are  already  aware, 

when,  conducted  by  his  unerring  instincts,  or,  rather,  the  uner- 

'ng  logic   of   the  scout,   Jim  Ballou   came  upon   the   ground. 

He  tracked  the  party,  as  we  have  seen,  up  to  the  point  where 

'hey  passed  from  the  woods  into  the  main  road.     Here  the 


478  THE   FORAYERS. 

tracks  were  all  lost,  in  the  wilderness  of  impressions,  made  by 
every  beast  that  runs,  upon  the  sandy  thoroughfare.  But  Jim 
Ballou  proceeded  to  work  out  his  usual  scout  logic. 

"  They're  not  going  to  keep  tlis  main  track,"  he  soliloquized 
in  a  murmur  as  he  looked  about  him.  "  They're  for  hiding, 
and  they've  just  crossed  the  road  to  get  into  the  lower  woods. 
Well,  we'll  see,  but  I  reckon  they're  quite  too  old  at  foxing  to 
go  right  across,  making  but  one  step  from  the  old  track  into  the 
new  one." 

And  our  scout  was  right.  His  search  directly  across  the  road 
yielded  him  no  discovery. 

"  As  I  thought,"  said  he.  "  No,  they've  kept  the  road  a  hi* 
up  or  down,  only  to  break  off  the  connection.  They've  gone 
across,  that's  certain,  for  if  that  wasn't  their  plan,  they  needn't 
ha'  come  out  of  the  swamp  thicket  to  the  road  at  all.  They'd 
ha'  just  pushed  on,  up  or  down,  in  the  same  old  woods.  Yet 
here's  their  track  to  the  very  edge  of  the  road.  Well,  it's  cer 
tain  they've  gone  across,  and  it's  up  or  down.  And  it  only 
needs  keen  sighting  on  t'other  side,  for  a  matter  of  fifty  yards, 
more  or  less,  to  see  where  they  come  out.  For  they  wouldn't 
keep  the  main  track  a  minute  longer  than  needful." 

So  he  reasoned.  His  own  horse  was  still  hidden  in  the 
thicket.  He  was  careful  not  to  suffer  his  own  tracks  to  mar 
those  which  he  sought.  He  stepped  the  road  carefully  up  and 
down  its  lower  margin.  Nothing  escaped  his  eyes.  They  were 
tliose  of  one  who  riding  at  a  canter  through  the  woods  will  stop 
his  horse  and  show  you  the  track  of  deer  or  turkey  among  the 
leaves,  and  tell  you  just  how  many  hours  have  elapsed  since 
the  animal  made  it.  His  reasoning  was  so  nearly  certain  that 
he  had  no  doubts  of  finding  the  trail.  After  a  while,  a  low 
chuckle  escaped  him,  and  he  raised  himself  erect. 

"  Have  'em  again  !  I  knowed  it  must  be  so.  And  now  to 
find  all  the  tracks,  and  see  if  any  of  'em  has  broke  off  from  the 
party." 

And  for  this  further  object,  he  again  addressed  himself  to  the 
trail. 

"  All  right !  all  together.     And  now  for  the  general  course." 

He  followed  the  track  for  a  hundred  yards  into  the  woodo  ; 

then,  as  if  satisfied,  he  took  his  wav  back  carelessly  to  where 


THE   SCOUT — THE    FUGITIVES —  THE   TRAIL  479 

his  horse  had  been  fastened.  He  slipped  the  bridle  and  let  the 
animal  graze.  While  the  horse  was  thus  employed,  the  scout 
drew  from  across  his  saddle  a  small  buckskin  sack,  with  two 
pouches,  one  on  either  side.  From  one  of  these  pouches  he 
drew  a  smaller  sack  containing  a  dry  grainy  sort  of  meal  a  few 
handfuls  of  which  he  swallowed.  His  food  was  a  simple  meal  of 
maize  and  sugar,  browned  together  over  the  fire,  one  part  sugar 
to  eight  of  meal.  A  draft  from  the  pure  sweet  waters  of  the  Edis- 
to,  swallowed  with  mouth  buried  in  the  running  stream,  which  he 
could  thus  reach  only  by  prostrating  himself  upon  his  breast 
with  his  hands  grasping  the  foots  of  trees  jutting  from  the  banks 
into  the  water,  satisfied  his  thirst ;  and  our  scout  was  ready  to 
pursue  the  trail  which  he  had  found.  But  he  did  not  imme 
diately  set  off.  He  returned  to  the  spot  where  his  steed  had 
been  left  to  graze  and  seated  himself  quietly  beneath  a  tree  to 
ruminate,  or  sleep.  For  two  hours  he  kept  this  position  seem 
ing  to  drowse,  and  perhaps  really  drowsing.  At  the  end  of 
tli is  time,  quietly  rising  up,  just  as  if  he  had  arranged  for  two 
hours'  sleep,  and  could  will  at  pleasure  the  duration  of  his  slum 
bers,  he  proceeded  to  bit  the  animal  and  mount.  A  few  mo 
ments  after  this  he  was  in  motion,  taking  the  trail  of  Inglehardt's 
party,  deep  in  the  forests,  and  pushing  in  a  southeasterly  di 
rection.  We  need  not  follow  him  for  the  present.  Enough  that 
the  beagle  was  on  the  track,  with  the  scent  keen  and  warm, 
and  that,  if  any  scout  can  fairly  keep  the  trail  of  the  tory  and 
his  captives,  Jim  Ballon  is  the  man  to  do  so.  The  great  forestf 
soon  swallowed  him  and  them  from  sight. 


THE    FORAYEItti. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

SKRIMMAGING. 

VERY  soon  after  Sinclair  had  left  Holly-Dale  —  as  scon  after 
as  possible — the  great  cumbersome  family  carriage  of  Mrs. 
Travis  was  got  in  readiness,  and  that  lady  and  Bertha  prepared 
to  depart  from  the  well-known  and  familiar  places,  seeking 
temporary  refuge  across  the  Santee.  Four  fine  blooded  bays 
were  harnessed  to  the  coach,  which  was  required  to  bear  the 
two  ladies,  the  servant-maid,  and  the  one-eyed  driver,  Oato. 
The  name  of  the  old  Roman,  who  never  distinguished  himself 
as  a  whip,  but  might  reasonably  assert  some  distinctions  for 
himself,  of  another  sort,  was  yet  hardly  misapplied  in  the  case 
of  our  Oato,  who,  very  certainly  had  been  a  famous  Jehu  in 
better  days.  He  was  the  o\\\j  family  negro  whom  Travis,  as  a 
novus  homo  could  claim.  He  had  inherited  Cato  in  right  of  his 
wife,  and,  as  an  old  family  negro,  the  fellow  was  held  to  be 
faithful  This  was  the  usual  characteristic  of  the  class.  It 
iras  the  "new  negro" — the  African  fresh  from  the  coast,  whom 
it  was  found  good  policy  always  to  distrust.  Cato  was  not 
simply  faithful.  He  was  sternly  and  bravely  so.  He  was 
fearless  in  the  assertion  of  the  rights  of  his  "  young  missis,"  "by 
which  title  he  continued  to  recognise  the  mother  of  Bertha, 
long  after  the  latter  had  entered  her  teens.  To  both,  and  to 
his  master,  Cato  never  hesitated  to  offer  his  opinions,  and  if 
iccessary,  his  rebuke.  As  if  conscious  of  his  integrity  and  of 
ts  recognition  in  the  family,  he  asserted  his  moral  rights  under 
it,  and  was  just  as  frequently  guardian  and  censor,  in  his  prov 
ince,  as  body-servant  or  carriage-driver. 

Captain  St.  Julien  readily  comprehended  the  character  of 
Cato  in  his  first  conversation  with  him  ;  and  a  judiciouslmder- 
itanding  between  the  parties,  at  the  commencement  of  the 


SKRIMMAGING.  481 

journey,  contemplated  all  the  possible  dangers  that  might  hap 
pen  along  the  route.  With  so  many  divisions  of  the  enemy 
approaching  the  very  precincts,  through  which  the  cavalcade 
was  to  pass,  they  might  reasonably  apprehend  some  encounters 
with  a  foe  whom  it  was  their  policy  to  avoid. 

The  auspices  were  seemingly  quite  favorable  when  the  party 
set  forth.  They  crossed  the  Edisto  at  Shilling's,  and  soon  began 
to  press  downward,  inclining  in  toward  Orangeburg,  until  the 
Caw-ca\v  swamp  should  be  passed,  when  it  was  the  policy  of 
St.  Julien  to  give  the  village  a  pretty  wide  berth  to  the  right, 
in  order  to  escape  the  danger  of  contact  with  Stewart  and  his 
regiment,  who  were  now  known  to  be  pushing  up  with  all  pos 
sible  speed  to  the  junction  with  Rawdon.  This  danger  once 
passed,  the  farther  progress  was  to  be  pursued  along  the  road 
running  across  the  head  of  the  "  Four-Holes,"  and  intersecting 
one  of  the  two  roads  leading  down  the  country,  parallel  to  the 
course  of  the  Santee,  until  they  should  be  able  to  strike  direct 
for  Nelson's  Ferry.  Once  in  this  road,  which  was  supposed  to 
be  in  possession  of  Marion's  parties,  the  progress  was  consid 
ered  safe. 

Such  was  the  arrangement.  But  it  was  subject  to  contin 
gencies.  When  St.  Julien,  timing  his  movements  to  those  of 
the  lumbersome  carriage  of  the  family,  was  approaching  the 
lowest  of  the  routes  across  the  Caw-caw,  one  of  his  scouts  rode 
in  and  gave  intelligence  of  a  considerable  body  of  the  enemy's 
horse  on  the  other  side.  It  became  necessary  to  pursue,  for 
the  present,  a  route  along  the  upper  margin  of  the  Cnw-caw, 
keeping  that  stream  and  swamp  between  themselves  and  the 
unknown  enemy.  In  sooth,  our  little  party  had  a  very  narrow 
strait  —  almost  as  narrow  as  that  bridge,  Al  Sirat,  of  the  Mus 
sulman's,  which  conducts  to  heaven  —  by  which  to  pass  through 
the  converging  masses  of  the  British.  There  was  Rawdon 
from  above,  soured  by  sickness,  irritated  by  the  hot  weather, 
/vexed  at  the  failure  of  Stewart  to  join  him  at  Granby,  and 
altogether  in  very  bad  temper,  with  the  world  generally,  and 
his  Irish  troops  in  particular,  pressing  down  from  Granby  along 
the  eastern  side  of  the  North  Edisto ;  Cruger,  embarrassed  by 
the  fugitive  colonies  of  the  Nine-Six  loyalists,  and  followed 
closely  by  Pickens,  seeking  a  junction  with  Rawdon,  as  the 


482  THE    FORAYERS. 

only  menus  of  making  himself  safe  ;  Stewart,  with  liis  regiment 
of  buffs,  and  a  large  convoy  of  provisions  and  munitions, 
goading  on  his  teams  the  nearest  road  from  Charleston ;  and 
sundry  scattered  bodies  of  tories  who  had  been  busy  as  fora- 
yers,  while  Greene  and  Rawdon  were  playing  for  heavier 
stakes  above. 

Well  might  St.  Julien,  with  his  little  squad  of  twenty-five 
troopers,  and  his  burdensome  coach  of  state  with  its  precious 
inmates,  feel  the  necessity  of  taking  every  possible  precaution, 
in  order  to  escape  being  ground  to  powder  between  the  several 
masses  then  tending  to  a  common  centre.  Yet,  had  he  known ! 
The  formidable  troop,  from  which,  misled  by  his  scout,  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  skulk,  consisted  of  a  detachment  of 
Marion's  command,  just  despatched  by  Greene  with  the  hope 
of  intercepting  Stewart  and  his  convoy.  Under  the  cover  of 
the  four  hundred  mounted  men,  whom  the  famous  partisan  led 
on  this  expedition,  St.  Julien  might  have  made  a  safe  progress, 
fourteen  or  fifteen  miles  ;  since  all  the  country  east  of  Stewart's 
route,  and  below  the  Caw-caw,  was  now  fairly  under  cover  of 
his  rifles.  Leaving  St.  Julien  to  his  obscure  road,  we  will  take 
that  pursued  by  Marion. 

It  was  on  the  6th  of  July  that  Greene  succeeded  in  passing 
Lord  Rawdon.  Reserving  to  himself  a  single  company  of 
Washington's  cavalry,  simply  to  watch  the  progress  of  the 
British  army,  Greene  despatched  Marion  on  the  expedition 
against  Stewart.  Marion  kept  himself  usually  well-informed. 
On  the  7th  of  July,  his  scouts  apprized  him  of  the  approach  of 
Stewart,  who  was  totally  unconscious  of  an  enemy.  At  mid 
night  of  the  same  day,  Marion  sallied  out  from  his  covert  con 
fident  of  the  prey  which  seemed  gliding  fairly  into  his  jaws, 
even  as  the  fly  walks  into  the  open  mouth  of  the  crocodile. 
But,  for  once,  his  scouts  were  premature  —  had  made  them 
selves  too  secure  of  fortune.  They  had  tracked  the  enemy  to 
the  door  of  the  trap,  but  never  once  seemed  to  fancy  that  he 
might  turn  aside  at  the  entrance.  They  had  made  no  provision 
against  the  very  event  which  happened.  At  the  last  moment, 
Stewart  had  a  choice  of  roads,  and  influenced  only  by  the  con 
dition  of  the  roads  themselves,  and  totally  unapprehensive  of 
any  fce,  the  British  colonel  simply  took  the  route  which  Marion 


SKRIMMAGING.  483 

did  not  cover;  and  while  the  partisan  swept  down  for  his 
destruction  along  the  one  route,  Stewart  made  his  way  upward 
in  safety  by  the  other.  Not  altogether  in  safety,  for  a  clash  of 
one  of  Marion's  squadrons,  recovering  lost  ground,  succeeded 
in  cutting  off  the  rear  guard,  with  a  portion  of  the  convoy. 
Stewart,  himself,  with  the  main  body  of  his  troop,  entered 
Orangeburg  on  the  morning  of  the  8th,  hardly  yet  conscious  of 
the  danger  he  had  escaped. 

While  these  events  were  in  progress,  St.  Julien  moved  for 
ward  slowly,  and  with  great  precaution.  He  kept  his  scouting 
parties  considerably  in  advance.  He  had  been  some  three  hours 
only  on  the  road,  after  leaving  Holly-Dale,  when  his  scouts 
rode  in  with  tidings  of  a  second  British  party  only  a  mile  off, 
consisting  of  some  thirty  men.  They  were  reported  to  be 
putting  their  horses  in  motion  ;  but,  of  their  course,  nothing  was 
known.  It  was  just  possible  that  they  might  be* pursuing  another 
route ;  possible,  that  they  might  not  cross  his  path.  It  was, 
perhaps,  easy  for  him  to  elude  them.  But  it  was  well  to  know 
who  they  were.  They  were  at  present  in  his  way.  They 
were  but  thirty  in  number,  and  his  force  was  twenty-five.  St 
Julien  resolved  in  a  single  instant.  He  was  the  quietest  person 
in  the  world,  but  the  most  decisive.  He  drew  his  lieutenant 
aside,  gave  him  brief  directions  in  a  whisper,  then  watched  him 
quietly  for  awhile,  as  he  divided  the  cormnand  into  two  parts, 
and  led  them  forward  slowly,  leaving  but  four  troopers  to  follow 
with  their  captain.  The  squads  thus  moving  off  turned  slowly 
into  the  woods  on  the  upper  side  of  the  road,  and  very  soon 
disappeared  from  sight. 

As  soon  as  St.  Julien  had  seen  them  disappear,  he  rode  up  to 
the  side  of  the  carriage,  and  with  a  pleasant  smile  upon  his  lips, 
and  a  courtier-like  bow,  he  said : — 

"  We  are  possibly  to  have  a  brush  with  the  enemy.  OUT 
scouts  report  a  squad  of  tories  on  the  route  ahead.  It  is  need 
ful  that  I  should  look  after  them.  But  this  need  not  alarm 
you,  ladies.  Do  not  be  uneasy.  I  make  no  doubt  we  shall 
readily  disperse  them ;  but,  whatever  the  event,  I  have  given 
Cato  instructions  what  to  do.  He  seems  firm  and  intelligent, 
and  should  any  disaster  befall  my  command,  you  had  better  trust 
him  implicitly." 


484  THE   FORAYERS. 

"But  will  you  have  to  iiglit,  Captain  St.  Julien  ?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Travis,  in  faltering  tones. 

"  It  is  very  probable,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But,  captain,  could  it  not  be  avoided  ?" 

St.  Julien's  face  slightly  reddened. 

"  It  might !  The  thing  is  surely  possible.  It  only  nee  Is 
that  I  should  forget  myself,  my  duty,  my  name,  my  orders,  and 
take  to  flight ;  in  which  event,  while  I  should  get  off  safely, 
your  carriage  and  party  would  probably  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  pursuers." 

"  Nay,  captain,  do  not  mistake  me.  I  should  be  the  last  per 
son  to  desire,  even  for  my  safety,  that  you  should  do  anything 
discreditable  to  manhood  :  and  you  will  please  remember,  be 
sides,  that  it  is  a  woman  who  speaks,  whose  feminine  fears  must 
not  weigh  against  a  soldier's  judgment.  My  only  thought  was 
that  —  that — really,  I  see,  that  what  I  would  say  now  amounts 
only  to  what  I  said  before  —  that  it  seems  our  best  policy  to 
avoid  encounter.  If  we  could  elude  the  enemy " 

"  Suc.h  would  be  your  policy,  my  dear  madam,  and  if  my 
only  duty  was  your  escort,  I  should  seek  only  your  safet}^,  at 
any  sacrifice.  But  you  will  remember  that  my  military  duties 
are  paramount.  It  is  only  an  incidental  service  which  keeps 
me  beside  your  carriage  for  a  while.  It  would  not  be  proper 
for  me  to  evade  or  to  seek  to  evade  any  reasonable  chance  of 
striking  the  enemy,  even  though  at  some  peril  to  your  escort. 
But,  in  truth,  we  have  no  choice.  The  enemy  is  before  us,  in 
no  great  strength  —  in  numbers  hardly  beyond  our  own.  We 
can  not  pass  him  without  a  meeting.  If  we  attempt  to  cross 
the  Caw-caw,  we  risk  the  encounter  with  Stewart ;  and  you 
have  been  already  advised  of  the  enemy's  presence  in  force  at 
the  lower  crossing.  To  turn  back  upon  our  own  steps,  is  per 
haps  quite  as  great  a  danger,  as  we  know  that  Rawdon  is  pres 
sing  down  from  above,  and  can  not  now  be  far  off.  You  see, 
my  dear  madam,  that  our  best  policy  is  to  seek  to  brush  the 
feebler  enemy  from  our  path  in  front,  and  to  delay  as  little  in 
doing  so  as  possible.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Travis.  Good  morn 
ing,  Miss  Bertha.  By  the  way,  Miss  Bertha,  you  may  find  some 
very  pretty  wild  flowers  in  this  wood.  Just  take  your  course 
downward  for  the  swamp,  as  soon  as  Cato  stops  the  carriage.  Ho 


SKRIMMAGING.  435 

will  drive  into  the  lower  woods,  so  as  to  Keep  from  sight  of  the 
road.  A  little  ramble  will  relieve  your  limbs  for  a  season.  In 
these  piney  woods,  where  they  slope  down  to  the  bays,  you  will 
find  a  great  variety  of  flowers,  and  I  should  be  pleased,  on  my 
return,  to  see  you  with  a  handsome  bouquet.  Here,  at  this 
very  season,  you  will  find  the  yellow  orchis,  which  is  a  pretty 
country  damsel ;  the  passion  flower  may  be  gathered  where  the 
woods  are  most  open;  its  carnation  contrasts  beautifully  with 
the  blue  pulchra ;  throw  a  few  sprigs  of  sensitive  plant  between 
them ;  and  then  sprinkle  the  white  azalea  around  and  about  the 
cluster ;  the  garden-shrub  grows  wild  in  all  this  region ;  the 
brilliant  silk  weed,  with  its  rich  blood  tints,  and  the  cardinal 
flower,  will  wonderfully  help  your  variety ;  the  yellow  and  pur 
ple  saracenia,  and  the  blue  flag,  you  will  gather  along  the 
swamp,  but  look  out  for  snakes  where  you  seek  for  these. 
There  is  a  dragon  that  always  watches  over  Beauty.  Don't 
forget  the  "wake  robbin,"  and  the  "old  man's  beard,"  the.leafy 
green  look  of  the  one,  and  the  snow-white  fringes  of  the  other, 
will  greatly  help  the  contrasts ;  and  if  you  will  make  your  girl 
gather  you  a  single  pond  lily  from  the  bay,  for  the  centre  of 
your  group,  you  will  have  as  beautiful  a  bouquet  as  Marie  An 
toinette  would  be  proud  to  plant  upon  her  toilet.  Pardon  me 
that  I  am  not  suffered  to  join  with  you  in  the  search.  I  am 
passionately  fond  of  flowers.  I  half  believe  them  to  be  fallen 
angels  —  particularly  these  odorless  wild  flowers.  By  the  way, 
do  you  know  why  they  are  so  odorless  and  so  beautiful,  Miss 
Bertha  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !     Why  ?     I  am  curious  for  the  reason." 

"Because  they  are  designed  as  field  and  wayside  flowers 

only,  and  thus  address  themselves  only  to  the  passing  eye 

meant  only  for  the  sight,  to  cheer  the  traveller,  not  to  delay 
him  — and  this  reminds  me  that  I  have  no  time  to  lose"  — 
taking  out  his  watch.  "  Good  morning,  ladies,  and  a  pleasant 
ramble.  Oato !" 

"Sah !  cappin!" 

"  Remember,  Cato,  what  I  have  told  you." 
Nebber  you  f'aid  [afraid]  cappin!     I  onderstands.     1   do 
'  you  tells  me.     He  done  !     /  say  'em  !" 

Cato  waved  his  whip,  and  nodded  his  head  with  the  air  of 


486  THE    FORAYERS. 

a  man  who  would  round  his  periods  conclusively.  But  St.  Julicn 
waited  for  no  answer.  With  a  smile  and  bow  to  the  ladies,  and 
a  finger  lifted  to  Cato,  lie  bent  forward  on  his  charger,  gave  him 
the  spur,  and  followed  the  route  which  his  lieutenant  had  pur 
sued.  He  overtook  his  troopers  as  they  worked  forward,  silent 
as  serpents,  trailing  through  the  woods. 

Not  a  bugle  sounded;  not  a  voice  spoke  above  a  whisper; 
but  quietly  gliding  from  officer  to  officer  and  man  to  man,  St. 
Julicn  whispered  the  necessary  orders  and  encouragement  to 
all.  He  aimed  to  surprise  his  enemy;  an  achievement  which 
he  thought  easy  enough,  after  the  report  made  by  his  scouts. 
And  he  proceeded  to  this  sort  of  business  with  the  same  calm, 
subdued,  and  gentle  manner,  with  which  he  had  counselled  the 
young  damsel  of  the  wild  flowers  of  the  region  and  how  best  to 
compose  them  into  a  bouquet. 

"  Ha !"  said  Cato,  "  he  hab  'trong  sense  for  sodger,  dat  same 
slim  cappin.  He  no  hab  black  eye  and  leetle  mout'  for  not'ing. 
I  see  de  debbil  in  he  eye,  for  all  he  talk  so  softly  and  small 
jes' like  a  gal.  He  no  gib  too  much  tongue.  You  no  yer  [hear] 
bugle  blow.  He  hush  'em  up.  He's  for  ambushment  fight,  I 
tell  you.  He  guine  'trike  jes'  like  rattlesnake  !" 

"But. what  are  we  to  do,  Cato  ?"  demanded  his  mistress. 

"  Enty  de  cappin,  he'se'f,  tell  you  Cato  is  know  ?  Nebber 
you  min'.  Jes'  leff  it  all  to  me,  young  missis." 

"  But,  Cato,  I  should  like  to  know  something  too.  What  is 
there  secret  in  these  instructions  of  Captain  St.  Julien  ?" 

"  Hegh  !  Da's  jes'  like  ooman's  !  He  mus'  be  knowing  to 
ebbry  t'ing.  Wha'  good  he  guine  do  you  for  know?  De 
cappin  know,  Cato  know  .  -  Wha'  den  ?  You  guine  alter  wha' 
de  cappin  say  ?" 

"  No,  Cato,  but  I  would  like  to  know  what  it  is." 

"  You  know  soon  'rough,  when  you  see  what  Cato  guine 
done." 

And  no  further  answer  would  the  fellow  vouchsafe,  as  he 
wheeled  his  horses  to  the  right  and  drove  them  down  toward 
the  swamp,  and  sufficiently  far  into  the  thicket  to  conceal  the 
vehicle  from  any  wayfarers  along  the  road. 

"  Der  you  is — all  safe!"  cried  the  negro,  as  he  held  up  his 
horses.  "  Reckon  dein  *oiy  nebber  can  see  we  yer  from  de 


SKRIMM  AGING.  487 

road.  Ef  he  want  for  fin'  we,  lie  mus'  put  lie  nose  down  to  de 
groun'  and  run'  in.  An'  now,  you  yerry  wlia'  de  cappin  bin  tell 
you.  Git  out  ef  you  wants  to,  and  'tretcli  you  limb,  and  pick 
de  yaller  flowers  ob  de  forest.  Ha  !  lie's  a  berry  'trange  sawt 
o' pusson,  dat  cappin;  jes' he  guine  fight  wid  broadsword  and 
pistol,  he  tell  we  'bout  de  flowers  ob  de  forest,  and  whay  for 
look  for  'em,  and  all  dem  'ang  wid  big  name.  And  jes'  wid  lie 
inout'  full  ob  flowers,  he  guinc  cut  down  de  hossman  and  de 
nosses,  and  shoot  de  people  as  he  run !" 

And  the  ladies  descended  from  the  carriage,  and  began  to 
look  about  for  flowers,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  sharp  blare 
of  the  bugle,  and  then  a  confused  sound,  a  strange  hum,  as  of 
numerous  insects,  rising  rapidly  into  the  uproar,  the  clash  and 
clang  of  a  very  spirited  combat,  hand  to  hand  and  a  Voutrance. 

St.  Julien's  broadswords  were  soon  at  breakfast,  their  teeth 
meeting  in  the  flesh. 

He  was  deliberate  —  very  much  so  —  as  a  man  of  action;  but 
he  consumed  very  little  time  in  his  deliberations.  It  was 
only  to  possess  himself  of  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  as  gather- 
able  from  his  scouts,  that  he  drew  rein  for  a  brief  moment  in  the 
wood. 

The  enemy  Avere  to  be  surprised.  They  were  in  possession 
of  an  old  mill-seat,  on  the  Caw-caw.  They  were  scattered  along 
a  narrow  causeway.  They  had  breakfasted,  and  whiskey  had 
been  their  substitute  for  coffee.  They  were  refreshed,  and, 
something  more,  exhilarated  —  never  once  dreaming  of  an 
enemy  so  near  them.  On  the  contrary,  under  the  lead  of  a 
notorious  Florida  outlaw,  one  Lem  Watkins,  after  a  season  of 
foray  on  the  South  Edisto  and  Savannah,  they  were  preparing 
to  unite  themselves  with  the  main  army,  and  to  share  in  its  ex 
pected  spoils.  Their  horses  stood  ready  bitted,  saddled  and 
bridled  for  a  start.  Some  were  fastened  to  branches  of  trees 
upon  the  roadside;  others  might  be  seen  upon  the  causeway 
leading  to  the  mill ;  Watkins  himself,  with  a  group,  was  taking 
a  stirrup-cup,  just  above  the  stream  itself,  which  happened  to  be 
quite  low  and  fordable.  A  dozen  of  them  were  in  the  saddle, 
when,  these  details  all  previously  ascertained  by  the  scouts  of 
St.  Julien,  and  his  troop  having  worked  their  way  down  under 
cover  of  the  woods  until  concealment  was  no  longer  possible,  he 


488  THE    PORAYERS. 

gave  the  signal,  and  his  bagle  rolled  out  the  sharp  blasts  which 
sounded  to  the  charge. 

Then  rose  the  wild  hurrah,  the  savage  whoop!  and  the  dra 
goons  thundered  down  apon  the  enemy.  The  tories,  who  were 
dismounted,  rushed  for  their  horses.  Those  who  were  mounted 
dashed  forward  along  the  causeway  down  into  the  swamp. 
Watkins  dropped  his  bottle  of  whiskey  into  the  stream,  and 
scrambled  across  it  to  the  opposite  bank  where  his  horse  was 
fastened.  Here  he  mounted,  and  wound  his  bugle,  and  shouted 
to  his  troopers  to  show  front  and  not  be  ridden  down.  They 
might  have  done  so  ;  since  the  causeway,  for  a  space,  was  but 
of  wagon-width,  and  might  have  been  held  against  thrice  the 
number  of  foes,  by  the  half-dozen  troopers  who  would  have 
covered  :•'..  On  each  side  the  ground  was  mucky  and  fenny. 
But  a  surprise  is  apt  to  prevent  all  mental  calculations. 

The  tories  made  two  or  thr&  ;  shows,  wheeling  about  and  dis 
playing  a  front  to  their  assailants.  But  the  charge  was  too 
rapid  —  too  headlong,  arid  so,  irresistible.  To  keep  ahead,  to 
dash  across  the  causeway  and  stream,  and  find  cover  in  the 
opposite  woods,  seemed  the  common  impulse  of  the  fugitives, 
and  a  fair  proportion  of  them  succeeded  in  doing  so  —  those  who 
perished  along  the  route  under  St.  Julien's  sabres,  just  offering 
sufficient  impediment  to  delay  the  onslaught  for  the  safety  of 
the  rest.  But  once  was  there  anything  like  a  conflict.  Three 
brave  fellows  planted  themselves  in  the  middle  of  the  cause 
way,  emptied  their  pistols  into  the  faces  of  half  a  score  of  the 
dragoons,  tumbled  one  of  them  from  his  saddle,  crossed  swords 
with  the  rest,  and  were  hurled  out  of  the  track,  ridden  down, 
tumbled  from  the  causeway,  and  cut  to  pieces  before  they  could 
rise. 

.  Quarter  was  neither  asked  nor  given.  The  work  with  them 
was  short.  They  had  been  guilty  of  the  blunder  of  receiving 
the  charge  at  a  halt,  instead  of  setting  their  own  steeds  in  mo 
tion.  The  momentum  of  the  shock  was  irresistible,  But  they 
embarrassed  the  charge,  delayed  it,  and  two  thirds  of  their  com 
rades,  running  pellmell,  succeeded  in  getting  over  the  swamp. 

The  proportion  was  too  great  to  be  allowed  to  escape.  Our 
dragoons  were  just  enough  heated  to  make  a  chase  agreeable, 
and  where  an  enemy  might  go,  a  brave  foe  might  surely  follow 


SKRIMMAGING.  489 

St.  Julien  dashed  after  them. 

Watkins  made  a  rally.  But  the  showing  was  a  false  one.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment.  With  the  near  rush  of  the  dragoons, 
the  tories  broke  incontinently,  and  made  for  the  open  woods 
the  pursuers  after  them,  occasionally  smiting  as  they  went, 
shearing  off  head  or  arm  of  the  unhappy  fugitive  whose  hope 
rested  upon  the  legs  of  a  beast  wanting  the  necessary  sinews. 

The  open  woods  are  reached,  but  offer  no  security  —  nay, 
afford  better  chances  to  the  dragoons,  who  are  all  well  mounted, 
and  on  powerful,  large  animals.  It  was  now  that  the  sword 
began  to  glean  its  victims.  Watkins,  himself,  was  closely  pur 
sued  by  St.  Julien.  A  small  group,  less  than  a  score,  held  on 
with  him.  They  were  nearing  the  open  road.  This  tended  to 
lessen  their  chances  of  safety. 

"  Why  not  surrender  and  get  quarter  ?"  said  the  lieutenant 
of  Watkins,  as  they  ran  side  by  side. 

"Ha!  and  what  the  good  of  that?  If  not  the  broadsword, 
it  is  the  gallows  !" 

Very  true  !     Every  mother's  son  of  them  was  an  outlaw. 

Breathless,  headlong  they  rushed  out  into  the  open  road,  and 
whirled  their  steeds  upward.  Not  twenty  yards  behind  them 
swept  St.  Julieii  forward  with  his  whole  squadron,  minus  two 
men  only  and  three  horses.  In  another  moment,  the  fugitives 
are  lost — just  so  soon  as  the  pursuers  find  themselves  on  the 
open  track !  But,  even  as  Watkins  gains  the  road,  he  shouts, 
yells  with  a  sense  of  relief,  gives  his  steed  new  spurs — lashes 
the  sides  of  the  beast  with  repeated  rowels  —  and  the  others  do 
the  same.  Headlong  the  beasts  go,  over  and  over,  rolling  iu 
the  sand.  St.  Julien  dashes  out  upon  them,  with  all  his  squad 
i  on,  ready  to  reap  the  field ! 

He  is  disappointed  of  the  prey.  His  uplifted  sabre  is  arrest 
ed.  He  gathers  up  his  steed  with  a  sudden  curb  that  staggers 
the  beast.  He  prepares  to  wheel  —  to  fly  in  turn. 

He  is  in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  whole  British  army 
of  Rawdon  !  Watkins,  with  his  beast,  has  rolled  over  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  British  van !  His  neck  is  not  broken,  and  he 
has,  this  time,  escaped  the  keen  edge  of  the  partisan's  sabre. 

The  British  drums  beat  the  alarm  livelily. 

"What  is  this?"  criec1  Eawdon,  galloping  to  the  head  of  hig 

21* 


490  THE   FORAYERS. 

column  J3ut  nobody  could  explain.  The  army  was  prepared 
for  battle,  the  artillery  unlimbered  and  hurried  up  to  the  front ; 
the  wearied  regiments,  marching  in  loose  order  up  to  this  mo 
ment,  and  no  small  disarray,  were  made  to  change  front,  and 
prepare  for  attack.  The  British  general,  one  of  the  ablest,  by 
the  way,  in  the  service,  had  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Greene's 
\vhole  army  was  at  hand.  He  knew  that  he*  was  pursued.  He 
knew  that  Greene,  himself,  with  a  strong  force  of  mounted  men, 
had  actually  passed  him ;  and  he  might  well  suppose  that  a 
forced  march  like  his  own,  by  a  people  accustomed  to  the  cli 
mate  and  so  strong  in  cavalry,  had  proved  them  better  able  to 
endure  so  heavy  a  strain  upon  their  strength  and  sinews,  than 
his  European  troops,  so  many  of  whom  were  fresh  from  Ire 
land.  Besides,  the  country  was  one  highly  favorable  for  sur 
prises.  So  dense  were  the  forests,  so  deep  the  swamps,  so 
sinuous  the  routes,  that  two  armies  might  sometimes  pitch 
their  tents  within  a  mile  of  each  other,  and,  unless  provided 
with  excellent  scouts,  might  never  suspect  their  mutual  prox 
imity  until  too  late. 

Rawdon  was  feeble  in  cavalry.  He  had  none  in  fact ;  his 
only  body  of  horse  having  been  cut  up  completely,  at  Granby, 
not  a  week  before,  by  a  detachment  from  Lee's  legion.  To 
supply  his  deficiency,  in  this  most  necessary  arm  of  war,  in  a 
plain  and  sparsely-settled  country  like  Carolina,  a  body  of  vol 
unteer  gentry,  his  own  staff,  the  field-officers,  and  some  few  loy 
alists —  in  all  something  less  than  a  hundred  men  —  had  organ 
ized  themselves  for  cavalry  service  on  this  march,  and  with 
reference  to  the  very  sort  of  danger  which  now  appeared  to 
threaten  them.  The  corps  was  led  by  Lord  Edward  Fitz 
gerald. 

rlhis  gallant  young  nobleman,  for  whom  so  melancholy  a  fate 
was  in  reserve,  to  be  developed  in  future  histories,  soon  led  his 
charge  against  St.  Julien.  He  had  been  operating  on  the 
flanks  and  rear  —  it  being  supposed  that  the  American  army 
was  still  behind  them. 

The  troop  was  not  an  efficient  one.  It  was  badly  mounted 
in  the  first  place ;  and  one  half  of  them  carried  small-swords. 
It  was  motley  in  equipment,  and  few  of  them  had  enjoyed  any 
advantages,  of  drill  01  training,  in  the  present  form  and  organ 


SKRIMMAGING.  491 

ization  of  the  troop.  Nevertheless,  it  was  still  too  strong,  num 
bering  some  ninety  men,  to  suffer  St.  Julien  to  ri>k  the  issue, 
in  the  very  face  of  the  British  army.  To  keep  up  a  good  front, 
and  claw  off  quietly  from  the  game,  was  the  policy  of  St.  Julien. 
But  would  the  enemy  suffer  this  ?  With  their  infantry  to  back 
them,  there  was  hardly  a  hope  of  it.  But,  as  this  was  all  of 
cavalry  that  the  British  army  could  command,  it  was  no  part 
of  their  policy  that  it  should  venture  far  from  the  main  body  in 
pursuit.  Rawdon  was  particular  in  his  injunctions  to  this  effect. 
He  knew  not  but  that  St.  Julien's  troop  was  employed  as  a  de 
coy.  Still,  it  was  needful  to  brush  the  assailants  from  his  path  ; 
and  the  dashing  young  Irishman,  who  had  volunteered  to  head 
this  command,  darted  out,  at  a  smart  gallop,  upon  our  partisans. 

St.  Julien  readily  conceived  the  British  policy,  and  this 
necessarily  counselled  his  own.  He  could  not  successfully 
maintain  the  assault  of  Fitzgerald,  and  the  latter  could  not  ven 
ture  to  pursue  him  far.  His  game  lay  in  the  heels  of  his  horses. 
He  wheeled  about  accordingly,  the  moment  that  he  made  the 
discovery  of  his  enemy  in  force,  sounded  his  bugle  for  the  retreat 
and  sent  his  men  a-head  —  down  the  road  toward  Orangeburg 
It  was  impossible  under  the  press  of  the  enemy  to  recross  the 
Caw- caw. 

Then  followed  the  chase,  continued  for  a  mile  down  the  road. 
St.  Julien  felt  that  he  could  always  take  the  measure  of  his 
pursuers'  feet.  He  had  very  much  the  best  horses.  He  did 
not  urge  his  beasts.  Looking  back,  from  time  to  time,  he  saw 
that  the  pursuing  force  was  scattered  —  the  better  mounted  were 
considerably  a-head  of  the  rest  —  leaving  the  party  in  advance 
very  little  more  numerous  than  his  own.  He  kept  his  troop  ir 
hand,  ready  for  the  moment. 

When  Turkey  creek  was  passed,  he  sounded  the  rally, 
wheeled  about,  gave  his  steed  the  goad,  and  dashed  on  to  the 
embrace  of  sabres.  His  steel  crossed  with  that  of  Fitzgerald.. 
The  shock  of  the  two  parties  was  fierce  and  the  strife  sharp.  It 
lasted,  however,  but  a  moment.  Soon  the  whole  force  of  the 
British  cavalry  pressed  up  to  the  melee,  and  the  retreat  was 
once  more  resumed.  A  few  saddles  on  both  sides  had  been 
emptied  in  the  brief  discussion,  and  the  two  captains  had  pretty 
well  warmed  with  their  gallant  passage-at-arms. 


492  THE   FORAYEES. 

Fitzgerald  felt  that  liis  foe  could  leave  him  at  any  moment, 
and  he  taunted  him  with  a  fling  at  his  chivalry.  St.  Julieii 
only  smiled  as  he  answered  : — 

"  Another  time,  my  lord.  You  hold  the  pledge  of  Peyre  St. 
Julien  that  he  will  not  always  fly." 

"  Peyre  St.  Julien  !  Ah  !  ha  !  That  is  the  gallant  of  Carrie 
Sinclair  !"  And  with  the  recollection,  his  lordship  urged  even 
more  keenly  the  pursuit  than  before.  He  now  had  a  personal 
feeling  in  the  matter. 

It  was  not  St.  Julien's  policy  to  be  driven  into  Orangeburg, 
where  he  might  find  his  hands  full,  with  Stuart's  buffs  and 
Coffin's  cavalry,  fresh  from  the  city.  Nor  was  it  his  game  to 
venture  below  that  place,  with  the  chance  of  meeting  this  foice 
on  the  road ;  and,  very  soon  there  would  be  small  choice  of 
roads,  two  only  offering,  one  obliquing  in  an  eastern  direc 
tion,  and  running  sinuously  from  the  village  to  the  Santee, 
heading  the  Four-holes  swamp ;  the  other  crossing  the  Caw-caw 
a  mile  from  the  village,  being  the  very  route  which  he  had  de 
signed  to  pursue,  but  from  which  he  had  been  diverted  by  the 
tidings,  brought  by  his  scouts,  of  a  large  body  of  mounted  men. 
That  body  of  mounted  men  too,  lay  between  him  and  all  these 
points,  unless  they  had  changed  their  ground  in  the  last  few 
hours.  But  he  was  necessarily  compelled  to  reason  and  to  act 
ns  if  they  still  were  in  his  path.  He  was  thus  between  two  or 
more  enemies.  Unless  he  could  strike  into  the  woods,  and  cut 
directly  across  the  country,  he  was  in  danger  of  falling,  one 
side  or  the  other,  into  the  meshes  of  a  more  powerful  foe.  The 
shortest  course,  and  boldest,  was  still  the  best. 

He  must  try  and  cripple  his  immediate  pursuer,  and  so  dis 
able  him,  as  to  be  able  to  take  the  woods  without  risking  pur 
suit  from  this  one  source  of  annoyance. 

Done  —  attempted  rather  —  almost  as  soon  as  resolved  upon. 

Again,  the  eagerness  of  the  pursuit  had  divided  the  force  of 
the  pursuers. 

St.  Julien  timed  his  performances,  with  a  due  regard  to  this 
circumstance.  Again,  at  a  given  signal,  he  wheeled  about, 
l»i«- ught  his  troop  to  the  charge,  and  spurred  forward,  a  bride 
abattue,  and  with  such  a  shout  from  the  lungs  of  all,  as  betrayed 
the  resolution  for  a  most  desperate  trial  of  strength. 


SKRIMMAGING.  493 

The  shock  was  beautifully  given,  and  manfully  borne.  But 
Fitzgerald  himself  went  down  before  it,  his  horse  reeling,  and 
finally  rolling  over  him.  The  clash  and  clatter  of  the  sabro 
followed,  sounds  like  the  tinkering  of  a  thousand  kettles,  and 
ugly  cuts  were  given  and  taken,  and  more  than  one  saddle 
emptied.  The  foremost  squad  of  Fitzgerald  —  he  himself — 
was  nearly  lost,  when  his  rear  came  up  in  separate  bodies  each 
producing  its  effect  upon  the  field.  The  young  Irish  lord, 
bruised  only,  recovered  his  legs  and  saddle.  A  few  more 
mounted  men  galloped  up  from  Rawdon's  army ;  others  were 
beginning  to  appear ;  the  enemy  was  increasing,  and  St.  Julien 
was  forced  once  more  to  show  his  back  to  the  pursuers. 

They  pressed  him  closely.  His  troop  was  much  more  jaded 
than  the  enemy.  His  several  charges,  upon  the  tories  first,  and 
subsequently  upon  the  force  of  Fitzgerald,  began  to  tell  upon 
his  horses,  while  his  pursuers,  on  the  other  hand,  their  move 
ments  timed  to  those  of  a  fagged  and  exhausted  infantry,  were 
comparatively  fresh. 

The  flight  began  to  falter ;  the  chase  increased  in  earnestness. 
The  parties  were  now  but  a  mile  from  Orangeburg,  and  again 
they  mingled  in  pell-mell  conflict. 

It  was  now  forced  upon  the  partisans  against  their  desires. 
The  game  became  serious.  St.  Julien  was  hardly  pressed,  and 
several  of  his  men  were  down.  The  whole  of  the  mounted 
force  of  the  British,  numbering  ninety  men  or  more,  had  reached 
the  field  of  strife,  and,  for  half-a-mile,  along  the  main  road,  the 
conflict  was  going  on  among  the  separated  groups. 

"  Yield,  Captain  St.  Julien,  and  have  good  terms,"  cried  Fitz 
gerald  approaching  him. 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  for  that  hereafter,"  was  the  reply  of 
St.  Julien.  The  swords  of  the  two  again  crossed.  It  was  quick 
work.  Both  were  good  swordsmen  ;  both  good  riders ;  both  of 
similar  build,  and  probably  the  same  degree  of  strength. 

One,  two,  three  !  — 

Cut !  — point !  — 

How  beautifully  the  sabres  flashed,  clashed,  clove  together  and 
recoiled. 

•  But,  suddenly,  the  champions  were  dashed   asunder.     Wave 
after  wave  roll  3d  in  between  them.     The  stunning  blare  from 


494  THE   FORAYERS. 

twenty  bugles  —  the  stunning  shouts  from  five  hundred  gieal, 
stentorian  throats  —  startled  all  the  echoes  of  Caw-caw  !  Fitz 
gerald,  he  knew  not  how,  found  himself  suddenly  in  full  flight, 
followed  close  hy  all  his  troopers;  — his  fine, painted  volunteer 
cavalry  —  his  handsome  painted  knights  —  with  scarlet  coats, 
flaring  feathers,  and  any  quantity  of  gold  lace  and  crimson 
sashes,  were  driving  wildly  a-hea^  sauve  qui  pent,  sounding  in 
the  ear  of  every  instinct. 

Fitzgerald  was  a  little  stunned — had  some  curious  sensations 
about  the  head  and  ears  —  was  about  to  ask  of  a  dozen,  as  they 
hurried  up,  after  the  secret  of  this  new  uproar  —  when  he  began 
to  distinguish  the  meaning  of  the  shouts  which  followed  him. 

"  Marion's  men  !  Marion's  men  !  Hurrah  for  the  old  swamp- 
fox  !" 

It  was  Marion,  indeed,  just  coming  up  from  his  dash  at 
Stewart's  convoy.  He  brought  with  him  four  hundred  mounted 
men.  Hotly  was  the  chase  pressed  upon  the  young  Irish 
gallant.  Trooper  after  trooper  of  his  handsome  little  squad 
ron  was  picked  up  or  cut  down  as  they  rode  and  ran!  It 
was  with  the  cheer  of  half-drowning  men  that  the  fugitives 
hailed  the  sight  of  Rawdon's  red-coats,  coming  on  at  a  trot,  and 
opening  to  receive  and  shelter  them,  with  presented  bayonets 
toward  their  foes. 

The  musketry  now  began  to  speak  from  the  advancing 
columns,  and  the  troopers  of  the  swamp-fox  drew  in  their  bridles,, 
and  yielded  slowly  arid  sullenly,  before  the  advancing  infantry 
of  the  British. 


PROGRESS  OF  THE  ARMIES.  495 


CHAPTER    XLII, 

PROGRESS    OF    THE    ARMIES. 

THE  British  army  was  able  to  repel  the  mounted  men  of 
Marion  —  to  compel  them  to  maintain  a  respectful  distance  — 
but  not  to  drive  them  off.  It  was  with  a  sore  and  angry  spirit 
that  Lord  Ilawdon  beheld  the  squadron  of  the  partisans  hover 
ing  on  front  and.  flank,  eagerly  watching  for  the  opportunity  to 
swoop  down  and  cut  off  stragglers,  and  carry  off  baggage-wagons. 
And  he  could  do  nothing,  wanting  cavalry.  His  flanks,  and 
front,  and  rear,  were  closely  watched  by  his  musketry,  and  at 
a  measured  pace,  drooping  forward,  in  depression  and  exhaus 
tion,  he  moved  on  in  order  of  battle,  momently  expecting  its 
shock  from  the  army  of  Greene. 

"Heavens!"  said  Marion  to  his  officers,  as  he  watched  the 
progress  of  the  foe  with  the  eager  appetite  of  the  hawk.  "  If 
our  infantry  were  but  present !  How  we  should  cut  them  up. 
They  are  ready  to  drop  with  exhaustion.  It  is  our  presence 
•>iily  that  keeps  them  up." 

Such  was  the  case  !  Never  was  army  so  broken  in  spirit,  by 
the  terribly  exhausting  effects  of  a  forced  march  in  midsummer, 
and  by  the  dispiriting  and  demoralizing  effect  of  such  a  situation, 
lacking  in  the  one  arm,  that  of  cavalry,  which  alone,  against 
such  a  force  as  that  of  Marion,  could  protect  them  from  insult. 

And,  staggering  forward,  the  British  army  slowly  worked 
along,  as  compact  in  mass  as  it  could  be  made,  with  bristles 
every  side  presented,  not  daring  to  pause,  not  daring  to  hurry, 
with  those  keen  sabres,  and  eager  horsemen  skirting  and  sweep 
ing  all  about  them,  watchful  of  the  opportunity  to  swoop  and 
strike ! 

But,  suddenly,  they  send  up  a  cheer.  Bugles  were  heard  in 
front,  the  drums  were  rolling  of  approaching  forces  from  below 


490  THE    FORAYERS. 

Stewart  had  marched  from  Orangebnrg  with  his  regiment  of 
buffs  and  the  cavalry  of  Coffin,  for  the  relief  of  his  superior. 
As  the  two  bodies  drew  near  to  a  junction,  the  bugles  of  Marion 
sounded,  and  his  mounted  men  seemed  to  melt  away  in  the 
.woods  between  them,  passing  out  of  sight,  and  upward,  to  the 
road  crossing  the  Caw-caw,  the  one  which  St.  Julien  was  com 
pelled  to  avoid,  in  consequence  of  the  report  of  his  scouts. 
Coffin's  cavalry  made  a  demonstration  upon  the  rear  of  our  par 
tisans,  seconded  by  the  squad  of  Fitzgerald,  but  they  were 
roughly  handled  in  the  brief  collision,  and  fell  back  upon  their 
columns  of  infantry. 

Marion  drew  rein  just  above  the  crossing  of  the  Caw-caw 
He  could  dispute  this  passage.  But  the  British  were  in  no  con 
dition  to  pursue.  No  sooner  had  the  junction  of  the  two  com 
mands  been  effected,  than  they  pressed  on  for  Orangeburg,  in 
no  temper  for  conflict;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  gone  into  quar 
ters,  the  scouts  of  Marion  were  all  about  the  place.  Their 
allies  within  it  were  not  idle  ;  and  the  parties,  singly,  stole  in 
and  out  during  the  day  and  night,  under  cover  of  the  swamps 
of  Edisto. 

That  very  day  Marion  sent  a  despatch  to  Greene,  of  which 
we  need  quote  but  a  single  sentence  :—  • 

"  They  are  neither  able  to  fight  nor  fly.  They  are  in  a  state 
of  utter  exhaustion,  too  fatigued  to  move.  The  report  is  that 
three  regiments  were  going  to  lay  down  their  arms  to-day,  and 
they  will  certainly  do  so,  if  required  again  to  march.  They 
have  no  notion  that  any  force  is  near  them  except  mine.  Let 
the  army  come  on  before  they  can  recover.  We  have  them  in 
a  trap.  One  vigorous  effort  may  close  the  war.  Their  Irish 
troops  need  but  few  arguments  to  turn  their  bayonets  against 
their  masters." 

And  Greene  eagerly  prepared  to  adopt  this  counsel,  issuing 
his  orders  instantly  for  the  concentration  of  all  his  forces  about 
Orangeburg,  except  that  single  command  under  Pickens,  which 
was  following  closely  upon  the  footsteps  of  Cruger  and  his  loy 
alists,  harassing  them,  whenever  possible,  on  their  retreat. 

But  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  St.  Julien  suffered  all  these 
proceedings  of  the  army  to^  continue,  without  giving  any  heed 
to  the  condition  of  the  travelling  party  whom  he  had  secreted 


PROGRESS   OF   THE   ARMIES.  497 

in  the  woods.  While  the  actual  pressure  continued  of  the  fight 
with  the  cavalry  of  Fitzgerald,  and  subsequently,  while  Marion 
hovered  about  the  British  army,  and  up  to  the  moment  when 
its  junction  with  Stewart  forbade  any  further  hope  of  a  success 
ful  demonstration  upon  it,  there  was  no  escape  for  the  little 
command  which  St.  Julien  led.  There  had  been,  in  fact,  nc 
time  for  any  explanation  with  his  superior,  until  the  moment 
when,  crossing  the  Caw-caw,  they  had  driven  back  the  cavalry 
of  Coffin.  Then  it  was  that  St.  Julien  had  an  opportunity  of 
communicating  with  Sinclair,  to  whom  he  revealed  the  particu 
lars  of  his  progress.  Meanwhile  hours  had  passed.  The  day 
was  now  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Good  heavens,  Peyre,  what  a  tedious  time  they  must  have 
had  of  it,  and  where  shall  we  be  able  to  get  them  to,  to-night  V 

"  Nay,  let  that  be  the  after-thought.  We  must  be  content  to 
recover  them  first  and  relieve  their  anxiety.  Get  leave  for 
me  at  once,  unless  you  desire  to  go  yourself." 

"  We  shall  both  go.     I  will  see  the  general  for  a  moment." 

And  to  Marion  he  went.     The  latter  did  not  hear  him  out. 

"  To  be  sure,  Sinclair ;  relieve  the  ladies  as  soon  as  possible. 
What  a  time  they  have  had  of  it.  But,  bring  them  along  with 
you.  They  can  find  the  way  up  to  Herrisperger's  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  you  can  send  them  directly  across  the  country  to  the 
Congaree.  Do  not  delay,  remember.  We  can  not  spare  you 
—  can  spare  nobody  now  for  any  length  of  time.  To-morrow 
we  may  have  work.  Remember,  the  wishes  of  the  ladies  must 
give  way  to  our  necessities.  They  must  come  with  you.  I 
can  not  spare  you  to  go  with  them.  Take  St.  Julien's  troop. 
They  will  suffice." 

And  Sinclair,  with  St.  Julien,  started  off  at  a  smart  canter, 
without  heeding  the  laggard,  limping  movement  of  their  steeds. 
They  talked  as  they  rode,  compared  notes,  reported  mutual 
progress,  and  without  loss  of  time,  made  their  calculations  and 
aiTar.ireviients  for  the  future.  It  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Travis 
and  licrtiia  would  need  no  escort  the  next  day,  taking  the 
upper  route  to  the  Congaree,  in  a  progress  over  a  region  which 
the  patriots  almost  wholly  covered,  now  that  Rawdon's  force 
was  withdrawn  from  it.  They  were,  at  all  events,  compelled  to 
gee  that  no  escort  fro  n  the  army  could  now  be  accorded  to  their 


498  THE    FORAYERS. 

wishes.  Of  course,  there  was  something  said  of  Mr.  Travis 
and  Henry,  and  some  speculations  as  to  the  mode  of  seeking 
and  recovering  them  ;  but  this  was  necessarily  a  matter  of  more 
remote  consideration.  For  the  ladies  now. 

And  so  scheming  and  arranging,  they  at  length  reached  the 
spot  where  the  carriage  had  sought  harborage,  and  where 
Bertha  had  been  counselled  how,  and  with  what  ingredients,  to 
fashion  her  bouquet. 

"  This  is  the  place.  Here  they  put  in,  you  see,"  said  St. 
Julien,  and  he  led  the  way. 

The  carriage-wheels  were  followed  deep  into  the  woods,  as 
deeply  as  it  could  go.  Here  they  came  to  a  halt.  Their  visages 
grew  blank.  St.  Julien  picked  up  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers, 
very  rich,  fashioned  very  much  after  his  directions.  Sinclair 
found  a  handkerchief,  with  Bertha's  initials  in  the  corner. 
Cato's  hat  was  also  upon  the  ground.  But  carriage,  ladies, 
Cato  —  all  were  gone  ! 

"  Good  heavens,  Peyre !  what  can  this  mean  ?  What  has 
become  of  them  ?" 

"  Let  us  look  about,  Willie." 

Trembling  like  a  leaf  in  the  winds  of  autumn,  with  the 
agitating  apprehensions  of  his  soul,  Willie  Sinclair  leaped  from 
his  steed,  and  examined  the  ground  more  closely.  So  did  St. 
Julien.  The  troopers,  meanwhile,  coursed  about  in  search  also 
At  length,  sickening  as  he  spoke,  Sinclair  stooping,  sank  upon 
his  knees,  and  cried  out,  in  voice  at  once  hoarse  and  feeble : — 

"  Peyre  !   Peyre  !     Is  it  blood  ?" 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  a  dark  crimson  puddle  at  his 
feet. 

"  It  is  blood !"  answered  St.  Juiien  in  husky  tones,  and  he 
shuddered  with  terrible  fancies  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  God !  be  merciful !"  murmured  the  strong  man,  as  he 
gazed  into  the  puddle,  as  if  seeking  to  discover,  from  its  quality, 
from  whose  heart  it  had  issued.  There  were  drops  of  the  same 
dark  hue  scattered  freely  about.  All  was  clotted,  hard,  and 
drying  rapidly. 

"  Get  up,  Willie  !  Arouse  you  !  We  must  try  and  find  the 
track  of  the  carriage,  and  follow  it.  They  are  gone  from 
hence." 


PROGRESS   OP   THE   ARMIES.  499 

"  Oh  !  Peyre  !  Peyre  !  Why  did  you  leave  them  for  a  mo 
ment  ?" 

'  Do  not  reproach  me,  Willie ;  let  us  be  men  now.  Let  us 
search.  Let  us  follow  !" 

For  a  few  moments,  Sinclair  gave  full  way  to  his  grief,  in  a 
wild  burst  of  reproach  and  anguish. 

"You  were  my  friend,  Peyre  —  my  more  than  brother.  I 
trusted  you  with  the  woman  whom  I  had  planted  in  my  heart, 
and  you  have  left  her  to  be  murdered." 

"  I  will  recover  her,  Willie  Sinclair,  or  perish  myself.  She 
is  not  murdered  !  Who  would  murder  her  ?  What  motive  ?" 

"The  blood!  the  blood!"  shrieked,  rather  than  spoke,  the 
strong  but  suffering  man. 

"It  is  not  hers!  Myj  life  on  it,  it  is  not  hers!"  was  the 
stern  and  confident  reply  of  St.  Julien.  "  But  we  must  waste 
no  time  —  lose  no  opportunity  in  the  indulgence  of  our  weak 
ness.  Let  us  look  farther.  Let  us  see  if  we  can  not  track  the 
carriage." 

Sinclair  aroused  himself  with  a  prodigious  effort. 

They  searched.  They  found  the  place  where  the  vehicle  had 
been  wheeled  about — had  been  drawn  into  the  road  again, 
some  fifty  yards  from  where  it  had  entered — traced  its  track 
into  the  old  furrows  of  the  road,  and  there  it  merged  in  with 
others  so  as  to  become  indistinguishable.  It  had  evidently 
pursued,  for  awhile,  a  due  northerly  direction. 

To  dash  ahead,  to  review  the  crossing  at  the  old  mill-seat 
where  St.  Julien  had  surprised  the  tories  under  Watkins,  to 
stretch  on  a  few  miles  farther  to  another  crossing,  at  another 
abandoned  mill-seat,  was  the  work  of  comparatively  little  time. 
Here  they  fancied  they  again  found  traces  of  the  carriage- 
wheels.  They  were  mistaken ;  but  of  this  hereafter. 

"They  have  crossed  here  into  the  Granby  road,"  said  St. 
Julien. 

"  It  is  more  than  probable.  Let  us  push  after  them,"  said 
Sinclair  ;  we  can  surely  overtake  them.  In  that  heavy  carriage 
they  can  move  but  slowly." 

"  Willie,  let  me  prosecute  the  search.  Give  me  but  ten  men, 
and  do  you  hurry  back  to  camp,  and  obtain  my  excuse  from 
Marion.*' 


500  THE   FORAYERS. 

"  And  why  should  you  pursue  the  search  and  not  me  1  What 
Is  Bertha  Travis  to  you  ?  No  !  Peyre  ;  do  you  go  hack  to  the 
general,  and  state  the  facts.  Leave  me  the  ten  men." 

"  But,  Willie,  rememher  your  responsibility.  You  command 
a  battalion.  I  can  be  better  spared." 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  Peyre !" 

"  Willie,  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  battle !  You  must  not  be 
absent.  You  heard  what  the  general  said." 

"  You  talk  as  if  I  should  be  suspected  of  skulking  from 
battle." 

"  I  talk  as  I  should  to  my  brother." 

"  What !  you  would  peril  your  reputation  for  mine  !  Is  that 
it  1  Do  I  not  know,  that  your  absence  at  such  a  moment  is  as 
fearful  a  trial  for  you  as  for  me,  Peyre  ?  No  !  no  !  my  brother  ! 
The  discredit  is  equal  with  both  of  us,  if  any  there  be,  and 
mine  is  the  chief  stake  in  this  pursuit  —  mine  is  the  loss  and 
danger  which  alone  could  justify  absence,  at  such  a  time,  from 
the  army.  Go  you  back.  Tell  the  general  the  simple  truth. 
You  shall  peril  nothing  of  reputation  for  me,  Peyre,  and,  mor 
tifying  as  it  will  be  to  me  to  be  absent,  yet  I  dare  not,  even  at 
the  peril  of  my  reputation,  consent  that  Bertha  Travis  should 
be  exposed  to  danger  and  insult,  when  a  bold  effort  of  mine 
might  save  her." 

"  Let  me  seek  and  save  her,  dear  Willie ;  it  is  almost  a  right. 
It  was  I  that  lost  her." 

"  No,  Peyre !  you  must  return.  I  was  unjust  to  you.  You 
could  not  have  done  otherwise  than  you  did.  Back  with  you, 
with  all  speed,  and  tell  the  whole  affair  to  Marion.  He  will  do 
me  justice.  I  will  push  the  pursuit  to-night  —  to-morrow  I 
will  be  back  to  camp  by  midnight.  In  that  time,  should  I 
fail  to  overtake  her,  I  shall  know  that  I  have  taken  the  wrong 
track.  Here,  it  seems  to  be  sufficiently  marked  to  warrant  my 
taking  it.  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  that  I  may  not  suffer  future 
self-reproach  for  supineness  and  timidity  now." 

We  shall  understand  the  generous  impulses  of  these  young  men, 
when  we  remember  how  much  a  military  reputation  depends 
upon  the  prompt  recognition  of  the  claims  of  duty,  over  all  other 
considerations,  no  matter  of  what  sort,  when  armies  are  about 
to  be  pitched  foi  battle.  Sinclair  was  the  military  superior  of 


PROGRESS   OF   THE    ARMIES.  501 

St.  Julien.  He  was  the  elder  also.  His  Avas  the  loss  in  the 
abduction  of  Bertha.  All  things,  all  arguments  concurred  in 
compelling  the  submission  of  the  subordinate.  But  it  was  with 
great  reluctance  that  he  tore  himself  away,  leaving  to  Willie 
Sinclair  the  task  of  pursuing  the  farther  search,  with  the  ten 
troopers,  after  his  mistress  and  her  mother. 

And  the  two  rode  different  ways. 

"  Blood  !  blood  !     Oh  !     God  !  if  it  should  be  hers  !" 

And  murmuring  thus  ever  as  he  went,  Willie  Sinclair  dashed 
away  on  the  supposed  tracks  of  the  fugitives,  crossed  the  Caw- 
caw  at  the  old  mill- seat,  and  coursed  up  the  road  which  led  to 
Qranby. 

And  as  St.  Julien  rode  back  to  camp,  his  subject  of  musing 
was  that  speaking,  yet  unintelligible  blood,  proof  also  —  proof 
of  crime  and  violence  and  suffering  !  but  whose  ?  —  proof  of  suf 
fering —  but  not  of  the  victim  !  That  terrible  doubt.  The 
agony  of  it  to  both. 

"  It  is  not  hers !  not  hers !  No !  no !  of  that  I  am  sure. 
Who  would  stab  or  murder  that  young  creature  1  or  her  mother  ? 
Why  !  with  what  purpose  ?  To  what  end  ?  No  !  If  any 
body,  it  is  poor  old  Cato  that  has  been  slain  !  The  good  old 
fellow  has  undertaken  to  defend  his  mistress,  arid  has  been 
butchered. 

"  But  who  are  the  murderers  ?  Where  could  they  spring 
from  ?" 

St.  Julien  was  soon  bewildered  in  the  mazes  of  his  own  con 
jecture.  The  natural  suggestion  was  that  of  the  interposition 
of  some  strolling  body  of  tories,  small  squads  of  whom  were 
everywhere  scattered  about  the  country,  engaged  in  all  out 
lawed  practices,  and  bent  wholly  on  private  revenge,  and  indis 
criminate  plunder.  The  thought  that  Bertha  Travis  and  her 
mother,  had  fallen  into  such  hands,  though  not  calculated  to 
produce  any  serious  apprehensions  for  their  lives  —  for  women 
are  not  usually  victims  to  violence  in  the  south  —  was  yet  very 
far  from  a  grateful  or  assuring  one.  There  were  crimes  to 
which  even  that  of  murder  might  wear  a  comparatively  innocent 
complexion. 

But  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  with  the  musings  of  St 
Julien.  He  reached  Marion  after  dark,  and  made  his  report 


502  THE   FORAYERS. 

The  swamp-fox  was  one  of  the  most  indulgent  of  commander! 
in  the  case  of  such  of  his  officers  as  he  knew  to  be  faithful  and 
honorable.  In  respect  to  Sinclair  and  St.  Julien,  he  was  very 
well  assured  that  neither  of  them  had  the  slightest  disposition 
to  skulk  from  duty.  The  case  of  Sinclair  he  felt  to  be  one  to 
justify  a  more  decided  departure  from  orders  than  the  one 
for  which  St.  Julien  apologized.  Marion  was  not  only  no  Mar 
tinet,  but  he  was  perhaps  a  little  disposed  to  regard  the  regular 
service  as  quite  too  exacting,  and  as  not  sufficiently  recognising 
the  claims  of  humanity.  But  for  the  crisis  in  army  affairs, 
which  was  generally  supposed  to  be  pending — but  that  he 
hoped  to  see  the  main  army  brought  into  the  field  in  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  Rawdon  forced  to  the  final  arbitrament  of  the 
sword  in  that  space  of  time  —  he  would  have  suffered  St.  Julien 
to  depart,  with  all  his  command,  in  support  of  his  friend.  It 
was  with  a  feeling  of  great  uneasiness  that  he  resolved  not  to 
do  so ;  and  with  some  misgivings,  when  he  threw  himself  down 
beneath  his  tree  that  night,  whether  he  had  not  been  a  little 
too  exacting,  in  not  tendering  him  the  leave  of  absence,  with 
his  troop,  which  might  better  enable  Sinclair  to  recover  his 
mistress. 

Meanwhile,  our  major  of  dragoons  crossed  the  Caw-caw  and 
pressed  northward.  He  rode  till  night,  sometimes  fancying 
that  he  had  recovered  the  tracks  of  the  carriage,  but  much  won 
dering  at  its  rapid  progress.  He  camped  at  night  in  a  thicket 
near  the  trail,  which  he  could  no  longer  pursue  in  the  darkness, 
and  resumed  the  chase  with  the  dawn.  He  rode  half  the  day, 
but  rode  in  vain.  He  had  watched  the  road  narrowly  ;  looked 
needfully  at  every  cross-road  and  turn-out ;  searched  or  in 
quired  at  every  house  or  hovel ;  saw  nothing ;  heard  nothing ; 
and,  at  the  close  of  another  day,  was  compelled  to  feel  that  he 
had  lost  all  traces  of  the  fugitives. 

Marion,  meanwhile,  with  his  brigade  of  mounted  men,  had 
recrossed  the  Caw-caw,  and  taken  post  on  the  north  side  of  the 
creek  which  crosses  the  old  Orangeburg  road  to  Granby,  foui 
miles  above  the  village.  Here  he  awaited  the  approach  of 
Greene,  maintaining,  all  the  while,  a  vigilant^ watch  upon  his 
enemy  in  Orangeburg.  His  cavalry  was  in  such  strength, 
compared  to  that  of  llawdon,  that  his  parties  approached  the 


PROGRESS   OF   THE   ARMIES.  503 

village,  and  swept  audaciously  around  it  without  challenge  01 
pursuit. 

On  the  10th  of  July,  Greene  had  collected  together  most  of 
his  detachments,  and,  reinforced  by  Sumter  with  his  brigade,  and 
some  small  parties  of  militia,  he  marched  down  to  give  his  en 
emy  battle.  After  he  had  joined  Marion,  it  was  found  that  the 
whole  American  army  numbered  a  little  over  two  thousand 
men ;  but  of  these  only  eight  hundred  were  infantry.  The 
force  of  Rawdon,  including  Stewart's  command,  was  about  six 
teen  hundred  disciplined  men,  and  perhaps  two  hundred  super 
numeraries  upon  whom  no  reliance  could  be  placed.  With  so 
small  a  force  of  infantry,  in  proportion  to  his  cavalry,  Greene 
could  not  have  encountered  Rawdon  in  a  pitched  battle,  unless 
with  some  peculiar  advantage  of  posi'ion;  while  Rawdon,  hav 
ing  no  cavalry,  could  venture  upon  no  enterprises  which  might 
remove  him  from  his  covered  position.  In  artillery  the  two 
armies  were  nearly  equal. 

At  the  point  where  Marion  (and  afterward  Greene)  took  post, 
only  four  miles  from  Rawdon's  garrison,  the  fact  of  doing  so 
was  an  invitation  to  battle.  To  take  ground  within  eight  or 
ten  miles  of  an  enemy's  position  is  a  military  challenge.  But 
Rawdon  surveyed  his  antagonist  from  his  sheltered  places,  with 
a  grim  sort  of  contempt,  taking  no  notice  apparently  of  the  in 
dignity  offered  him.  Nothing  would  have  better  pleased  this 
gentleman  than  to  march  out,  as  he  had  done  at  Camden,  and 
give  his  ancient  opponent  battle.  But  he  had  too  much  at  stake 
to  peril  anything  for  the  present,  and  he  preferred  waiting  until 
the  arrival  of  Cruger  from  Ninety-Six  should  give  him  such  a 
preponderating  force  as  would  make  the  issue  almost  certain  to 
be  successful.  His  hope  was  that  Greene,  pleased  with  the 
mortifying  position  in  which  his  presence  placed  the  British 
army,  would  linger  in  the  neighborhood  sufficiently  long  to  en 
able  him  to  realize  the  junction  with  Cruger.  He  took  no  oc 
casion  therefore  to  show  disquiet,  or  to  beat  up  the  American 
quarters.  He  made  no  sorties ;  he  attempted  no  negotiations. 
Still  he  was  uneasy.  The  Americans  had  cut  off  his  resources. 
He  was  for  the  time  isolated.  The  parties  of  Marion  swept 
round  him  hourly,  and  the  only  outlet  left  him  was  ~y  the 
bridge  over  the  Edisto  and  into  the  forks  between  the 


504  THE    FORAYERS. 

branches  of  that  stream,  which  his  batteries  covered.  And  this 
was  a  region  which  was  now  almost  reduced  to  barrenness. 

Greene  dreaded  the  appearance  of  Cruger  qnite  as  greatly 
as  Rawdon  desired  it.  He  knew  that  the  junction  of  the  two 
would  increase  the  force  of  Rawdon  to  nearly  or  quite  three 
thousand  men,  and  those  whom  Cruger  brought  with  him  were 
veterans,  and  not,  like  the  new  Irish  regiments  of  Rawdon,  of 
uncertain  fidelity.  He  determined,  therefore,  if  possible,  to  an 
ticipate  the  approach  of  Cruger,  by  forcing  Rawdon  to  battle. 

We  have  already  described  the  position  of  Orangeburg,  but 
it  may  be  necessary  in  this  place,  to  state  that,  lying  on  the 
east  bank  of  the  North  Edisto,  the  river  so  winds  about  it  as  to 
cover  one  half  of  its  circumference.  To  the  north  and  south 
are  swamps  and  ravines,  which  not  only  forbid  the  free  use  of 
cavalry — in  which  so  much  of  Greene's  strength  consisted  — 
but  these  swamps  and  ravines  make  so  near  an  approach  to 
each  other,  as  to  leave,  on  the  east  side,  but  a  narrow  isthmus, 
uneven  and  broken,  upon  which  an  assailant  could  operate. 
The  jail,  a  strong  brick  building  of  two  stories,  was  a  good 
substitute  for  a  redoubt,  and  this  building  with  others  contigu 
ous,  commanded  the  approach.  AH  of  these  Rawdon  occupied. 
The  crown  of  the  hill,  on  which  this  building  stood,  was  suffi 
ciently  spacious  for  the  formation  and  manoeuvres  of  the  whole 
British  army.  To  these  chief  defences,  when  you  add  the 
houses  and  fences  of  the  town,  it  will  be  seen  that,  against  a 
force  consisting  chiefly  of  mounted  militia,  the  place  was  one  of 
considerable  strength. 

Greene's  reconnaissances,  which  put  him  in  possession  of  these 
facts,  compelled  him  to  hesitate  in  his  first  resolution  of  forcing 
the  British  general  to  battle.  A  conference  with  his  officers  — 
not  exactly  a  council  of  war — followed,  which  resulted,  as 
usual  in  such  cases,  in  the  adoption  of  the  safer  policy ;  we  are 
not  prepared  to  say  the  wiser  one.  The  Americans,  for  the 
moment,  were  in  high  spirits,  the  British  depressed  by  fatigue, 
and  vexed  with  discontent.  The  impediments  of  the  ground 
were  not  such  as,  in  the  present  state  of  military  science,  would 
be  called  strong.  The  houses  occupied  by  Rawdon,  with  the 
exception  of  the  jail,  \iere  wood.  The  eminence  they  occu 
pied  was  exceedingly  slight  and  of  gradual  rise.  The  aj> 


PROGRESS   OF   THE   ARMIES.  f>06 

preaches  might  be  made  on  several  quarters,  and  artillery  .night 
have  been  successfully  employed  upon  the  jaiL 

No  doubt  the  true  reason  why  the  assault  was  not  made,  is 
to 'be  found  in  the  American  want  of  infantry  and  the  propel 
arms  and  implements.  With  a  thousand  bayonets,  supported 
by  artillery,  and  accompanied  by  a  cloud  of  riflemen,  there  is 
no  question  that  the  natural  defences  of  the  place  would  have 
been  wholly  disregarded  and  easily  overcome.  Even  with  the 
force  he  had,  .were  inoy  well  supplied  with  rations,  Greene 
might  have  made  a  successful  demonstration.  But  a  few  ounces 
of  rice,  and  two  ounces  of  lean  beef,  per  diem,  to  a  man  who  is 
expected  to  charge  up  a  rising  ground  in  the  face  of  a  well- 
appointed  garrison,  offer  but  small  incentives  to  valiant  enter 
prise. 

Contenting  himself  with  marching  before,  and  in  sight  of 
Rawdon's  position,  with  his  whole  army,  on  the  12th,  Greene 
then  drew  off  his  forces.  He  had  put  a  military  insult  upon 
his  enemy,  and  there  is  always  some  satisfaction  in  that  achieve 
ment,  to  both  regulars  and  militia.  He  drew  back  to  his  camp 
that  night,  and  before  morning  was  advised  by  his  scouting 
parties  of  the  progress  downward  of  Cruger's  division.  In  an  • 
other  day  he  might  be  expected  to  arrive.  It  became  neces 
sary  to  prepare  for  early  removal,  since  there  could  be  no  ques 
tion  but  that  Rawdon,  as  soon  as  the  junction  could  be  made 
with  Cruger,  would  march  out,  and  witli  a  force  with  A\rhich  the 
Americans  could  hardly  hope  to  contend.  We  may  mention, 
in  addition,  that  Greene's  marches  had  not  been  made  wii^out 
considerable  exhaustion  to  his  own  troops.  His  infantry  needed 
rest.  It  was  rapidly  succumbing  to  fatigue,  the  want  of 
proper  food  and  the  terrible  severity  of  the  climate.  But  a 
good  supper  on  the  Edisto  was  necessary  to  fit  them  for  further 
fatigues,  and  for  this  the  camp-kettles  were  put  in  requisition  at 
a  very  early  hour.  What  sort  of  supper  was  to  be  had,  and 
where  it  was  to  come  from,  were  questions  that  exercised  the 
conjectural  ingenuity  of  all  parties  to  a  far  greater  extent  than 
did  the  future  prospects  and  possibilities  of  the  war ! 

22 


06  THE  FOBAYERS. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

THE    FROG    CONCERT    AN1?    CAMPAIGN. 

THE  army  of  Greene  were  taking  rest  for  the  first  time  foi 
several  days,  at  the  close  of  that  which  witnessed  their  insulting 
demonstrations  before  the  garrison  of  Orangeburg.  We  have 
seen  that  their  camp  lay  only  four  miles  from  that  village:— a 
mellow  sunset  overspread  the  scene,  and  gentle  breezes  from  the 
west  cooled  off  sweetly  the  heat  of  a  day,  the  ardency  of  which 
had  severely  tried  tried  all  parties.  The  utmost  languor  for 
a  while  pervaded  the  encampment.  The  troops  lay  about  upon 
the  grass,  under  the  trees,  with  half-shut  eyes,  enjoying  that 
dreamy  sensation  which  supervenes  after  fatigue,  and  before 
recuperation— mind  and  body  in  concert,  as  it  were,  for  mutual 
restoration.  But  few  of  the  groups  visible  in  our  foreground, 
were  capable  of  exertion,  and  but  few,  indeed,  of  those  whom 
we  do  not  see,  were  any  more  equal  to  it  than  those  immediate 
ly  before  our  eyes.  Here  and  there,  some  important  adjutant, 
ensign,  or  corporal,  might  be  found,  restlessly  employed,  giving 
orders  about  the  use  of  moonshine.  Troopers  who  had  thrown 
their  chief  burdens  on  the  loins  of  their  horses,  were,  perhaps, 
the  most  lively ;  and  groups  of  these  were  to  be  seen,  busy  in 
consuming  the  last  drops  of  sunshine  and  Jamaica  at  command, 
while  flirting  the  cards  at  "  old  sledge"  from  well-thumbed  and 
greasy  packs  of  "  pictures,"  pitching  quoits,  or  grooming  horses 
We  confess  that  Marion's  men  were  the  chief  sinners  after  this 
fashion  ;  his  boys  of  Santee,  Pedee,  Waccamaw,  and  the  parish 
country  generally,  having  a  sort  of  natural  calling  for  the  fine 
arts,  were  busy  with  cards  and  coppers  at  every  rest.  Cards 
and  dice  constituted  so  many  fine  arts  in  their  hands.  It  was 
the  boast  of  some  of  them  that  they  could  extract  all  sorts  of 
L  music,  fun,  and  philosophy,  from  the  four  aces. 


THE   FKOG   CONCUR!   AND   CAMPAIGN.  507 

To  this  general  rest  and  languor  of  the  army,  there  were, 
however,  some  striking  exceptions.  The  command  of  Marion 
stretched  toward  the  Caw-caw.  In  the  woods  of  this  region,  an 
hour  before  sunset,  there  might  be  seen  a  squad  of  twenty 
troopers,  dark,  bronzed,  half-naked  young  savages,  following, 
with  some  interest,  the  speech  and  movements  of  a  large, 
broad-shouldered,  and  great-bellied  personage,  wearing  the 
uniform  —  somewhat  doubtful,  indeed,  because  of  rents,  stains, 
and  deficiencies  —  of  a  captain  of  dragoons.  He  was  on  foot, 
and  by  no  means  active  of  movement,  though  taking  his  steps 
with  the  confidence  of  a  war-horse,  and  the  solid  firmness  of  an 
elephant.  He  was  a  line-looking  fellow,  in  spite  of  the  too 
great  obtrusion  upon  the  sight  of  his  abdominal  territory,  a  re 
gion  which  he,  nevertheless,  endeavored  to  circumscribe  within 
reasonable  bounds  by  a  girthing  of  leather,  only  half  covered 
with  a  crimson  sash,  which  no  doubt  had  the  desired  effect  in 
some  degree,  though  at  some  sacrifice  of  the  wearer's  comforts 
His  face  was  full  almost  as  the  moon  at  full,  of  a  ruddy  brown, 
his  head  massive,  chin  large  and  prominent  eyes,  bright  but 
small,  and  mouth  eager  with  animation.  His  nose  was  decided 
ly  intellectual.  At  his  elbow  stood  a  negro,  jacket  off,  and  arms 
akimbo, .who  followed  the  motions  of  his  superior  with  a  mixed 
air  of  deference. and  assurance.  Around  these  two  the  troopers 
were  gathered.  Before  the  group,  slaughtered  and  skinned, 
hanging  from  a  tree,  was  one  of  the  lean  beeves  of  the  country 

—  a  poor  skinny  beast,  weighing  some  two   hundred  pounds, 
gross,  bone,  meat,  skin,  offal !     Near  at  hand  stood  a  small,  rick 
ety,  covered  wagon,  the  contents  of  which  we  may  conjecture. 
It  was  one   of  Marion's  recent  captures  from   the  convoy  of 
Stewart;  and  contained,  no  doubt,  some  resources,  the  value 
of  which  may   be  guessed  from   the   mysterious  looks  which 
were,  every  now  and  then,  cast  upon  it  by  passing  groups  of 
thirsty  dragoons,  the  very  glances  of  whom  are  apt  to  burst 
locks,  and  consume  stores/ 

Our  captain  was  busy  with  the  commissariat  of  the  brigade 

—  not  as  the  head  of  it,  by  no  means,  but  as  premier  —  head- 
counsellor,  and  legal  and  moral  adviser. 

"  I  tell  you,  Fielding,  it  >vill  never  do.  Tell  me  there  were 
no  better  beeves  to  be  had  !  You  have  just  taken  what  thej 


508  THE    FORAYERS. 

please  to  give  you.  You  are  too  modest.  It  is  the  infirmity 
of  your  family,  whenever  the  interest  is  not  absolutely  and 
directly  your  own.  We  do  this  business  of  foraging  for  all  the 
army,  yet  it  seems  that  the  meanest  share  is  always  to  fall  to 
us.  Tell  me  nothing  of  Colonel  Lee.  He  has  an  independent 
legion;  let  him  pick  up  his  own  beeves.  AS  for  the  field- 
officers,  I  do  not  see  that  their  official  position  confers  upon 
them  any  right  to  better  tastes  and  appetites  than  a  poor  cap 
tain  of  partisan  cavalry.  I  thank  my  stars  that  I  have  tastes 
which  are  as  well  cultivated  as  any  brigadier  or  colonel  in  the 
army.  And  shall  my  tastes  be  defrauded,  because  these  epau- 
letted  buffaloes  are  greedy,  and  you  are  mealy-mouthed  ?  Why 
the  devil  don't  you  assert  yourself,  man,  and  assist  us,  as  you 
should,  when  the  distribution  of  the  beef  takes  place  1  You  are 
a  fool,  Pickling,  for  your  submission  !  Colonel  Lee's  man  steps 
before  you,  and  says,  *  Colonel  Lee;'  and  Colonel  Washington's 
man  starts  up,  and  says,  'Colonel  Washington' — and  these, 
arid  a  score  of  others,  even  while  they  speak,  clap  hands  on 
the  best  pieces,  and  choose  the  fattest  flanks ;  and  when  all  are 
served,  you  steal  up,  with  finger  in  your  mouth,  and  murmur, 
'  Is  anything  left  for  General  Marion  V  Is  that  the  way  to  do 
business  ?  I  tell  you,  '  No,  sir !'  Your  true  way  is  to  take  the 
best  that  offers — lay  bold  hands  on  it  —  nay,  thrust  it  through 
with  your  naked  sabre,  and  say,  'Marion's  brand!'  Do  the 
tiling  as  you  should,  with  the  proper  look  and  manner,  and  not 
a  rapscallion  in  the  army,  representing  no  matter  what  division, 
dare  lay  hands  on  it  after  that !  If  they  do,  let  me  be  at  your 
elbow  next  time,  with  two  or  three  fellows  of  my.  choosing!" 

"  But,  Captain  Porgy — " 

"  But  me  no  buts,  Mr.  Fickling.  I'll  have  you  out  of  your 
office,  if  you  do  not  but  against  this  sort  of  distribution.  You 
are  to  provide  us ;  and,  if  you  do  not  comprehend  that  our  sol 
diers  are  just  as  deserving  of  good  food  as  any  continentals  in 
the  service,  you  are  not  fit  for  our  service,  and  I'll  have  you 
out  of  it.  General  Marion  himself  submits  quite  too  much  to 
this  sort  of  treatment.  If  there  is  a  fine  horse  in  the  brigade, 
it  is  immediately  wanted  for  some  one  of  Lee's  dragoons  —  some 
d — d  henchman  or  bugleman  —  and  off  the  colonel  goes  to 
Greene  and  tells  him  that  his  legion  wants  horses,  and  that 


THE    FROG    CONCERT    AND    CAMPAIGN.  500 

Marion  has  enough  and  to  spare,  and  we  are  called  upon  to  dis 
mount,  and  provide  other  people.  Yet  are  we  kept  day  and 
night  on  the  trot  —  off  to-day  for  the  Pon-pon  and  Savannah, 
to-morrow  for  the  Pedee  —  now  running  down  tories,  now  cat 
tle;  seeking  information,  scouting,  spying,  called  out  at  all 
hours ;  and  hoAV  is  this  to  he  done,  if  we  are  to  give  up  our 
horses.  The  brigade  has  covered  all  this  low  country,  from  the 
Pedee  to  the  Savannah,  for  three  years  and  more,  and  the  best 
that  is  got  in  the  forays  that  we  alone  make,  are  served  out  to 
these  hungry  feeders.  I  won't  submit  to  it.  They  shall  neither 
have  my  horses  nor  my.  cattle ;  and  if  you  take  any  more  such 
beef  as  this,  Fickling,  when  better  is  to  be  had,  we'll  turn  you, 
nock  and  heels,  out  of  your  department." 

"But,  Captain  Porgy — " 

"See  to  it!" 

"  But—" 

"  See  to  it !     That's  all !     I  say  no  more — to  you  !  —  Tom  !" 

"Sah!" 

"  Get  our  share  of  that  carrion  !  See  what  you  can  do  with 
it.  We  must  have  soup,  I  suppose.  Make  a  pilaw.  We  have 
plenty  of  pepper  now.  You  can  hardly  get  a  decent  steak  from 
the  beast.  But  do  what  you  can.  I  must  see  after  something 
more.  We  are  to  have  company  to-night.  I  have  asked  the 
great  men,  the  big-wigs,  the  governor,  Generals  Marion  and 
Sumter,  the  colonels  of  the  brigade,  Maham,  Singleton,  and 
a  few  others.  Have  everything  ready  by  ten  o'clock.  Did 
you  succeed  in  getting  any  melons  ?" 

"  I  empty  one  patch,  maussa." 

"  Whose  ?" 

"  I  dunn  know  quite  'zackly,  but  he's  a  fiel'  jes'  yer  on  de 
back  ob  de  village.  De  melons  is  quite  'spectable." 

"  Ripe  ?" 

"  As  de  sunshine  kin  make  'em." 

"  Good  !  Do  as  much  stealing  in  an  honest  way  as  you  can ! 
D — n  the  patriotism  that  can't  eat  stolen  fruits !" 

"  Wha*  else  you  guine  hab,  maussa." 

"  Who  knows  what  I  can  get  ?  I  must  look.  There  ought  to 
be  frogs  here  in  abundance,  and  of  good  size.  Not  such  as  we 
can  find  in  a  rice  reserve,  Tom,  but  passable  in  war-time,  and 


610  THE   FORAYERS. 

delicate  enough  for  hot  weather.  I  shall  look  out  for  a  young 
alligator  or  two." 

"  Dat'll  do  !  Gi'  me  two  young  alligator  tail,  and  de  frog, 
and  I  gi'  you  fus'  rate  tuttle  soup  and  ball,  and  steak." 

"  Must  have  a  ragout,  Tom.  Have  you  seen  no  pigs  about, 
Tom !" 

"  Nebber  yer  de  fas'  squeak,  maussa." 

"Well" — with  a  grunt  —  "we  must  do  as  we  can.  Come, 
boys,  are  you  ready  ?" 

"Ay,  ay,  captain !"  from  a  score  of  voices;  and  a  dozen  ac 
tive  young  fellows  presented  themselves,  armed  with  wooden 
spears  and  knives. 

"  Where's  George  Dennison  ?" 

A  voice  answered  from  the  foot  of  a  tree. 

"  Come  along,  George ;  don't  be  lazy.  What  you  shall  see 
this  evening  will  enable  you  to  beat  Homer  in  a  new  epic,  in 
which  cranes  and  frogs  shall  figure  to  posterity." 

And,  following  the  corpulent  captain,  the  whole  party  pushed 
down  to  the  swamp. 

"  There's  a  battalion  for  you,  George  Dennison.  Not  a 
rascal  under  six  feet — half  a  dozen  nearer  seven.  I  chose 
them  specially  for  the  expedition.  They  are  our  cranes,  and 
are  all  eager  for  the  war." 

"  And  the  frogs  are  sounding  for  the  conflict.  Hear  their 
tongues,  already.  The  concert  for  the  evening  is  begun.  Hear 
the  chirruping  overture  :— 

" '  Fry  bacon— tea-table  1 
Coyong!  coyong!  coyong! 
Supper  on  table — supper  on  table, 
Eat  if  you're  able! 
Blood  an'  'ounds — blood  an'  'ounds.' 

"  By  the  way,  captain,  a  frog  concert,  would  not  be  a  bad 
speculation  in  the  great  cities  of  Europe.  How  a  score  or  two 
of  musical  fellows,  who  had  once  or  twice  slept  in  our  swamps. 
or  lingered  after  sunset  along  our  rice-fields,  would  make  capi 
tal  out.  of  it !  And  such  a  sensation.  What  a  hurly-burly, 
subdued  to  order,  they  could  make  of  it." 

"  No  doubt !  The  notes  and  tones  occupy  every  note  of  the 
gamut  !  It  is  a  rare  original  music.  But  the  secret  would  lie 


THE    FROG    CONCERT    AND    CAMPAIGN.  fU 

in  making  the  music  tributary  to  satire.  The  frogs  should  fur 
nish  a  running  commentary  on  the  follies  and  vices  of  society 
as  in  Aristophanes,  only  adapted  to  our  times.  Tt  would  task 
art  admirably  to  work  out  of  it  an  opera  —  the  Loves  of  the 
Frogs  !  Little  Squeaka,  the  dreaming  sentimental  damsel,  just 
emerging  into  society  —  corning  out;  in  her  train  some  half  a 
dozen  Jockos  —  minnows  of  fashion,  that  sing  in  a  love-lisp 
always  —  Therubina  !  ah  !  Therubina  !  Oh  the  rich  fun  of  such 
a  farcical !  Of  what  a  delightful  variety  would  the  affair  admit ! 
The  lover,  the  villain,  the  priest,  the  mother  —  all  the  usual 
varieties,  not  forgetting  Arlecchino.  Of  course,  the  frogs  are 
not  less  fortunate  than  their  betters.  They  have  a  Jack  Pud 
ding  among  them.  The  squirrels  have  I  know." 

"Don't  forget  the  duenna!      Hear  her  falsetto,  squeaking 
through  a  score  of  crevices  in  her  broken  teeth : — 

"'On  your  knees,  0, 

Not  a  sneeze,  O, 

Don't  you  hear  your  mother  coming?5 
'To  be  kissed,  0, 
By  the  priest,  0, 
Is  the  saintliest  sort  of  mumming 

'"0,  alack,  O, 

Such  a  smack,  0, 
Makes  the  very  echoes  jealous;' 
'But  it  proves,  0, 
Holy  loves,  O, 
Most  particularly  zealous.' 

"'Hark  that  drumming!' 
'Mother  coming!' 
'And  that  pother?' 
•  "Tis  your  father!' 

'Awful  sounds,  01' 
'Blood  and  'ounds,  OP  — 

"In  full  fresco  swells  the  chorus, 
From  the  motley  group  before  us; 

Sighing,  swelling, 

Barking,  belling — 
Such  a  moaning,  such  intoning, 
So  much  groaning,  honing,  droning, 
Calling,  falling,  bawling,  drawling, 
Speaking,  shrieking,  squeezing,  squeaking, 


THE  FORAYERS. 

"All  subsiding  to  a  quiver, 
And  a  shiver, 

Only  to  ascend,  in  thunder, 
Rolling  up  and  roaring  under  — 
Blood  and  'ounds,  0!  blood  and  'ounda,  0) 
Awful  sounds,  breaking  bounds, 
Setting  all  the  woods  a-shaking, 
Setting  all  the  bog  a-quaking, 
All  the  swnrnpy  empire  waking, 

With  the  eternal  blood  and  'ounds,  O 

"Rending,  raging, 

Battle  waging, 

'Yond  all  musical  assuaging  — 
O'er  all  mortal  sounds  uproarious, 
O'er  all  mortal  sense  victorious, 
Like  the  diapason  glorious, — 
That  through  pipes  and  stops, 
Shrieks,  and  bounds,  and  hops, 
Foams,  and  frisks,  and  frolics, 
Rolls  and  rages,  rocks  and  rollicks, 
Feeding  every  mortal  stopper,  ah! 
Of  the  grand  Italian  opera!" 

Thus  it  was  that  the  rustic  poet  of  the  partisans,  gave  fort1 
extempore  an  embodiment  of  the  music  of  the  frogpondians. 

"Hurrah!"  cried  Porgy,  "hurrah,  Geordie  —  why,  man,  you 
are  native,  to  frog  manor  born,  with  all  the  pipes  and  bellows 
of  the  swamp  in  your  own  wind-bags ;  or  to  requite  you  in  your 

own  coin  : — 

"Worthy  venison, 

Geordie  Dennison, 
You  will  soon  require  a  stopper,  O, 
Scaring  off  wLh  greater  clamor, 
Every  leap-frog  from  his  amour, 
Turning  every  mother's  son  of  'em 
Making  fun  of  'em, — 
To  a  hopper  off,  from  a  hopper,  0 1" 

And  thus  doggrelizing  as  they  went,  the  two  led  their  laugh 
ing  cohort  down  into  the  swamp. 

The  Caw-caw  was  in  full  concert.  Bull  and  bell,  squeak  and 
shriek,  moan  and  groan.  All  the  artistes  were  in  exercise,  en 
gaged,  no  doubt,  in  some  rehearsal,  preparatory  to  some  great 
ceremonial  —  the  bridal,  possibly,  of  the  young  princess  of  tlm 
pondians. 


THE   FROG    CON  ,'ERT    AND    CAMPAIGN.  518 

Porgy  and  his  corps,  with  their  pointed  spears  of  wood, 
wooden  forks,  baskets,  and  knives,  stole  down  into  the  lagunes. 
What  a  picture  for  the  stage !  What  an  action  for  the  bur 
lesque  drama !  But  the  matter  was  a  serious  one  enough  foi 
one  of  thf  parties.  Long  will  the  frogs  of  that  ilk  remember 
with  wailing  the  raid  of  the  cranes  of  that  day.  Could  you 
have  seen  those  long,  gaunt  backwoodsmen,  each  with  shaft, 
prong,  or  trident,  striding  hither  and  thither  in  the  bog  and 
lake,  striding  right  and  left,  poised  above  their  great-eyed  ene 
mies,  and  plunging  forward  to  grapple  the  wounded  and  squal 
ling  victim  before  he  should  sheer  off,  or,  as  George  Dennison 
said  afterward,  describing  the  affair  in  sonorous  heroics  : — 

"  Could  you  have  seen  that  theatre  of  frogs, 
As  each  in  due  delight  and  bog  immersed, 
Sprawled  out,  at  length,  in  slime  and  sandy  bed; 
Great  legs  of  green  or  brown  outstretching  wide; 
Great  arms  thrown  out  as  if  embracing  heaven ; 
With  eyes  dilating-,  big  as  Bullace  grapes, 
Upturned,  and  gloating  as  with  rapturous  rage ; 
Great  flattened  jaws,  that,  ever  and  anon, 
Distending  with  voluminous  harmonies, 
Sent  forth  their  correspondences  of  sound, 
In  due  obedience  to  the  ehoragus, 
Who  still,  a-  proper  intervals,  pour'd  ">ut 
The  grand  refrain — sonorous,  swelling  still, 
Till,  at  the  last,  the  apex  diapason 
Was  caught,  was  won,  in  glorious  'Blood  and  'ouruisl"' 

It  was  a  war  of  shallow  waters.  Habitual  croakers  are  only 
justified  when  they  perish.  They  have  nothing  to  complain  of. 
They  always  seem  to  anticipate  their  fate,  and  this  seems  to 
prove  it  only  just  execution  after  judgment  —  which,  of  course, 
is  legal  and  becoming.  Our  partisans  had  grown  expert  in  this 
sort  of  warfare.  The  Caw-caw  swamp  was  a  region  in  which 
the  frogs  held  populous  communities  and  cities,  and  —  you  know 
the  proverb  —  "Thick  grass  is  easier  cut  than  thin."  It  was  a 
massacre  !  Every  spearman  could  count  his  score  or  two  of 
slain,  and,  really,  a  very  pretty  spectacle  they  made  when, 
emerging  from  the  swamp,  each  carried  his  victims  aloft,  trans 
fixed  upon  a  sharp  and  slender  rod,  run  through  at  the  neck, 
eyes  wider  than  ever,  and  legs  and  arms  spread  about  in  all 

22* 


514  THE    FORAYERS. 

direction  7.  Nor  was  this  all.  No  less  than  three  young  alliga 
tors  and  three  times  as  many  terrapins  were  surprised  and  cap- 
tnred,  almost  without  a  struggle,  and  borne  off  in  triumph  to 
the  camp  !  The  wailing  in  the  Caw-caw  that  night  was  not 
greatly  lessened  by  the  loss  of  so  many  sonorous  voices,  since 
we  may  reasonably  suppose  that  maternal  suffering  sent  up 
such  extra  clamors  for  the  absence  of  precious  young  ones,  as 
more  than  atoned  for  the  diminished  forces  of  the  community. 

"  On  your  lives,  boys,  not  a  word  of  what  we  have  been  do 
ing,"  said  Captain  Porgy.  They  all  swore  to  keep  faith. 

"There  are  thousands  of  clever  people  in  the  world,"  lie 
added,  "  who  require  to  be  surprised  into  happiness.  Some  of 
my  guests,  to-night,  are  probably  of  this  description.  I  shall 
teach  them  a  new  pleasure  —  nay,  §t  new  moral  in  a  new  pleas 
ure —  teach  them  how  absurd  it  is  to  despise  any  of  the  gifts 
of  Providence." 

And,  following  out  this  policy,  it  was  with  great  secrecy  thai 
the  spoils  of  the  frog  campaign  were  conveyed  to  his  quarters, 
and  delivered  over  to  the  custody,  of  Tom,  his  cook.  Tom,  we 
may  add,  like  every  sensible  cook,  made  a  sufficient  mystery  of 
his  art  to  keep  prying  curiosity  away  from  the  kitchen  when 
ever  he  was  engaged  in  any  of  his  culinary  combinations.  Lei 
us  leave  these  for  other  parties,  and  for  proceedings  of  more 
imposing  consequence  if  less  attractive  performance.  We  shall 
seek  to  be  present  when  supper  is  on  the  table. 


PLAN    FOR   THE   CAMPAIGN    OP   THE    DOG-DAYS.          6ii 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

PLAN    FOR    THE    CAMPAIGN    OF    THE    DOG-DAYS. 

WHILE  our  cranes  were  busied  in  the  ai^ault  upon  the  green 
jackets  of  the  pond,  the  American  general  had  assembled  about 
him,  in  the  woods  in  the  rear  of  his  encampment,  all  the  leading 
persons  of  his  army.  Sentinels  were  duly  stationed  around  for 
the  keeping  off  of  intruders.  The  assembly  was  a  somewhat 
primitive  one  in  the  fashion  of  its  grouping,  if  not  its  materials 
The  greensward  offered  the  only  seats.  The  green  boughs  of 
oak  and  pine  furnished  the  only  roofing.  A  few  logs  afforded 
places  for  persons  of  distinction  ;  but  the  greater  number  were 
fain  to  make  themselves  level  with  the  green  bosom  of  their 
mother  earth  —  at  this  season  covered  with  a  plentiful  clothing 
of  verdure ;  crab-grass  and  crowfoot,  to  say  nothing  of  dock, 
fern,  and  a  pretty  variety  of  wild  flowers.  General  Greene  re 
ceived  the  several  persons  as  they  presented  themselves.  He 
was  a  person  of  imposing  size  and  figure  —  too  portly  for  the 
ethereal,  but  of  goodly  make  for  a  major-general  of  provincials 
—  of  fine,  commanding  form  —  of  mild,  intelligent  countenance, 
which  a  slight  obliquity  in  one  of  his  eyes  did  not  impair  :  of 
simple  manners,  easy  and  not  ungraceful  carriage.  Greene  was 
a  man  of  good  military  abilities;  —  we  are  not  prepared  to  call 
them  extraordinary  ;  —  of  cool,  sedate  mind,  and  ready  ^esource ; 
not  very  daring ;  not  brilliant  of  conception ;  too  Fabian  of 
policy  for  the  proper  use  of  cavalry  —  which  implies  the  nece* 
eity  of  daring ;  and  perhaps  a  little  wanting  in  that  promptness 
which  secures  and  fixes  victory  at  the  moment  of  crisis,  when 
she  trembles  from. side  to  side,  uncertain  where  to  settle.  In 
the  sort  of  warfare  which  he  was  called  upon  to  conduct,  during 
the  war  of  the  Revolution,  in  the  South,  he  was  particularly 
useful,  perhaps,  because  of  his  caution  —  in  not  perilling  the 


5 If)  THE    FORAYKR3. 

cause  upon  any  single  action,  where  defeat  might  be  certain 
ruin,  and  in  tempering  a  very  sanguine  and  impetuous  people 
He  was  cautious,  like  Washington  ;  but  in  greater  degree, 
than  Washington ;  and  did  not  aim  at  any  brilliant  performan 
ces.  In  a  service  so  inexperienced  as  that  of  the  American, 
during  the  Revolution,  and  with  such  incoherent  elements  to 
manage,  caution,  perhaps,  was  an  element  of  the  greatest  mili 
tary  virtue  in  a  general.  It  might  lose  many  opportunities,  and 
very  possibly  did,  but  it  incurred  no  extraordinary  perils,  such 
as  might  not  be  repaired  without  great  embarrassment. 

The  bluff,  manly  person  and  well-bronzed  face  of  William 
Washington,  a  man  even  more  massy  of  build  than  Greene,  was 
the  first  to  present  itself.  Washington  was  famous  at  a  charge. 
He  affected  no  military  refinements  or  science.  There  is  our 
enemy.  He  is  in  the  way.  No  more  was  necessary.  Wash 
ington  understood  the  rest,  and  rushed  at  once  to  his  perform 
ance.  And  Marion  followed,  slight  of  form,  brown  of  aspect, 
with  his  keen  black  eyes,  and  vulture-like  hook  of  nose,  Roman 
all  over ;  quiet  of  manner,  retiring  of  habit ;  undistinguished  in 
carriage ;  and,  next  to  Pickens,  one  of  the  most  unpresurning 
of  persons,  almost  shy  and  timid  of  approach  in  society  Too 
modest,  in  fact,  for  the  assertion  of  his  own  rights. 

Harry  Lee,  of  the  legion,  next  presented  himself,  a  person  of 
much  more  pretension  and  of  genuine  dragoon  audacity  ;  a  keen 
spirited  soldier ;  who  kept  his  legion  in  first-rate  order,  at  the 
expense  of  everybody  else  ;  something  of  a  martinet ;  something 
of  a  carpet  knight ;  but  full  of  talent,  which  only  needed  a  more 
wholesome  training,  to  develop  into  first-rate  excellence.  He 
took  the  general's  hand,  smiled  complacently  around  upon  the 
group  ;  sauntered  about  for  a  while  ;  his  dragoon  sword  jostling 
the  ground  as  he  walked,  as  was  the  way  with  Tarleton's,  from 
its  great  length.  He  seemed  quite  too  mercurial  to  seek  a  seat. 
He  kept  the  turf  until  he  suddenly  encountered  the  sardonic- 
smile  of  Sumter ;  when  he  let  himself  down  quietly  enough  upon 
the  roots  of  an  oak,  and  watched  the  approach  of  the  successive 
parties  to  the  conference. 

Sumter's  fine  features  were  remarkably  composed ;  composed, 
perhaps,  with  some  effort  —  for  Sumter  was  in  no  good  humoi 
with  Greene  or  Lee  at  this  period.  He  thought  himself  wronged 


PLAN    FOI{    THi;    CAMPAIGN    UF    TIIK    HOC-DAYS.          517 

by  both.  The  latter  had  contrived  to  give  offence  to  both  him 
self  and  Marion,  by  his  propensity  to  overbear  and  manage  ;  and 
Greene  had  somewhat  become  the  instrument,  blind  or  other 
wise,  of  this  dashing  self-complacency  of  the  legionary  colonel. 

But  Greene  had  erred,  besides,  of  his  own  head,  and  both  of 
the  partisan  generals,  Sumter  and  Marion,  were  by  this  time 
made  aware  that,  while  dealing  with  them,  quietly,  in  the  hand 
somest  terms  of  compliment,  he  had  been  writing  letters  to 
other  persons  which  spoke  slightingly  of  themselves,  their 
followers,  and  performances.  Perhaps,  but  for  Rutledge,  both 
of  them  would  long  before  have  abandoned  the  service.  Marion 
did  seek  an  occasion  to  resign,  from  offences  then  received ;  and 
Sumter  finally  disbanded  his  brigade,  in  indignation,  not  long 
after  this  very  council. 

But  Rutledge  himself  appears,  having  reached  the  camp  an 
hour  before.  He  is  followed  by  Colonel  Williams,  the  adjutant 
general  of  the  army,  a  Marylander  of  good  abilities;  cool,  cir 
cumspect,  vigilant,  and  of  considerable  military  talents.  Colonel 
Carriugton  «ame  with  him  —  a  high-toned  officer,  in  whose 
judgment  Greene  entertained  considerable  confidence. 

These  were  all  present  at  the  conference,  which  was  not  a 
council  of  war,  by  the  way,  but  a  sort  of  military  conference  for 
the  interchange  of  opinions.  Greene  welcomed  them  all  with 
proper  breeding,  offered  them  pleasantly  a  choice  of  seats,  and, 
in  a  few  brief  remarks,  congratulated  them  on  the  prospect  of 
affairs.  He  then  motioned  Rutledge,  with  whom  he  had  already 
enjoyed  a  private  conversation.  To  Rutledge  he  was  greatly 
disposed  to  defer,  finding  him,  as  he  himself  confesses,  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  persons  he  had  ever  met. 

And  he  was  such  !  The  genius  of  John  Rutledge  was  emi 
nently  executive.  He  possessed  that  grand  sweep  of  vision,  in 
civil  affairs,  which,  in  the  military,  is  perhaps  somewhat  dis 
paraged  by  the  French  descriptive  phrase  —  the  coup  d'ceil. 
With  a  grasp  of  the  eye  he  not  only  took  in  the  whole  field,  in 
generals,  but  he  grouped  the  details  of  it,  in  proper  relationship, 
and  at  the  same  glance,  with  equal  confidence  and  facility.  His 
mind  was  wide,  expansive,  penetrating — and  —  honest.  All  its 
instincts,  if  we  may  so  speak,  were  truthful.  The  true  was  its 
watu  *al  aim  ;  its  impulsive  seeking.  He  was  at  once  frank  and 


518  THE    FORAYERS. 

earnest;  hence,  he  was  a  popular  orator  of  great  command, 
ready  at  the  emergency,  and  always  compelling  respect,  and 
winning  confidence.  He  was  bold,  ardent,  just.  He  conceived 
readily  the  grandeur  of  the  trust  reposed  in  him,  and  he  had  no 
such  small  passions  as  could  divert,  or  dissuade,  from  its  execu 
tion.  He  merged  —  and  this  is  the  grand  secret  of  patriotism 
always  —  he  merged  his  individual  pride  and  pleasure  —  his 
mind  and  his  affections,  equally,  in  the  cause  which  he  had  un 
dertaken.  We  hardly  express  our  full  meaning  in  these  words. 
He  was  not,  briefly,  so  much  John  Rutledge,  as  the  man  of  the 
times  and  country.  In  these  he  lived,  and  was  properly  him 
self.  He  was  at  once  an  individual  and  a  representative  man! 
and  such  are  the  greatest ! 

He  spoke  —  and  with  that  ease,  sweetness,  strength,  and  ear 
nestness,  which  command  attention  and  secure  confidence. 
His  words  entered  men's  ideas,  and  gave  them  the  necessary 
utterance.  Not  a  man  present  but  fancied,  as  he  spoke,  that  he 
himself  had  furnished  the  motif  for  every  syllable  that  was 
uttered. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  general,  and  you  gentlemen,  all,  at  this 
present  meeting,  and  under  such  favorable  auspices.  Our  af 
fairs,  in  one  little  month,  have  wonderfully  brightened.  The 
prospect  is  now  good,  that  we  shall  compel  our  enemy  very 
soon  to  lift  his  foot  entirely  from  the  breast  of  our  little  state. 
You  have  already  freed  her,  in  great  part,  from  his  iron  foot 
steps.  He  has  been  driven  from  all  his  strongholds  in  the  in 
terior.  His  fortresses,  everywhere,  have  been  dismantled.  Cam- 
den  is  now  ours  ;  Ninety-Six,  Augusta,  Granby,  Forts  Galpliin, 
Grierson,  Motte;  and  it  needs  but  a  thousand  bayonets  to  expel 
him  from  the  post  of  Orangeburg,  which  lies  before  us  now  ! 
And  this  conquest,  under  our  present  auspices,  can  not  long  be 
wanting.  You  have  circumscribed  his  bounds,  and  it  is  only 
between  the  Santee  and  the  Edisto,  that  he  makes  a  show  of 
pDssession ;  and  it  is  only  in  the  garrison  of  Charleston  that  he 
makes  any  show  of  security.  Here,  if  he  dares  to  linger  until 
we  can  recruit,  we  have  him  —  to  be  destroyed  at  pleasure,  like  an 
elephant  in  a  morass.  These,  gentlemen,  have  been  the  fruits  of 
our  toils  since  the  opening  of  the  present  campaign.  They  are 
sufficiently  encouraging  to  justify  the  most  sanguine  hopes,  that 


PLAN   FOB  THE   CAMPAIGN   OF  THE   DOG-DAYS.         519 

we  shall  finally  expel  the  invader  from  his  securities  —  from  all 
our  territory,  even  before  the  close  of  the  present  season. 

"  But  you  need  respite  !  Our  summer  is  even  more  terribly 
hostile  to  man  than  the  winters  of  Siberia !  Your  toils  have 
been  already  too  much  prolonged,  particularly  in  the  case  of 
those  who  have  so  nobly  come  to  our  succor,  from  the  sister 
states  of  Virginia,  Maryland,  North  Carolina,  and  Delaware. 
We,  who  know  oi.r  climate,  must  not  suffer  your  patriotism  to 
peril  your  lives,  unnecessarily.  You  must  be  respited  !  You 
must  seek  the  salubrious  hills  of  the  Santee,  where  I  have 
already  made  such  provisions  for  your  comfort,  as  was  possible 
to  our  resources.  There,  your  general  can  reorganize  his  in 
fantry,  and  establish  it  on  a  better  footing  for  performance. 
There,  while  you  rest,  you  will  probably  receive  such  supplies 
from  Congress,  of  arms  and  ammunition,  as  will  enable  you  to 
face,  and  grapple  with  the  best-appointed  veterans  of  Europe. 
I  am  promised  these  supplies,  and  doubt  not  that  we  shall  sea 
sonably  receive  them. 

"  Meanwhile,  our  cavalry  and  mounted  riflemen,  in  which  lies 
our  greatest  strength,  need  not  be  idle.  I  am  about  to  propose 
to  them  a  service,  in  which,  I  am  sure,  their  patriotism  will  not 
fail,  and  from  which  I  hope  that  we  shall  derive  the  happiest 
advantages  to  the  country.  You  have  seen  with  what  efficacy 
we  wrought,  when  our  troops  were  thrown  between  the  out 
posts  of  the  enemy,  and  his  base  of  operations.  We  have  seen 
that  the  movement  has  compelled  him  to  contract  his  circle  of 
control,  within  the  narrowest  limits.  I  am  for  pursuing  the 
same  process,  for  compelling  him  to  quit  all  his  interior  posts  — 
Orangeburg,  Eutaw,  Wantoot,  Watboo,  Biggin,  Monk's  Corner, 
and  Dorchester  —  by  once  more  passing  between  him  and  hifi 
Charleston  garrison.  With  the  overwhelming  force,  in  cavalry, 
which  we  command,  we  can  cut  him  off  from  all  supplies  —  from 
all  communication  —  and  alarm  him  lest  he  himself  be  cut  off  in 
the  interior.  To  do  this,  all  that  needs,  is  to  hurl  our  mounted 
men  across  the  country,  from  Orangeburg  to  the  seaboard, 
covering  the  space,  patrolling  it  everywhere,  cutting  his  scattered 
bands  to  pieces,  and  thundering  at  the  very  gates  of  Charleston. 
Tf  this  proceeding  does  not  make  the  British  lion  turn  tail 
on  the  Edisto  for  ever,  he  is  of  much  tougher  material  than 


520  THE    FORAYERS. 

we  Lave  ever  found  him  yet!  Do  not  understand  me  as  dis 
posed  to  disparage  his  courage  or  his  firmness,  his  valor  or  his 
resources  ;  but  only  to  say  that  our  process  is  one  to  shake  even 
a  greater  firmness  and  courage,  than  he  has  ever  yet  shown, 
brave,  and  stubborn,  and  audacious  as  he  is  !  What  think  you, 
gentlemen,  of  the  scheme  of  operations.  It  is  understood,  gen 
tlemen,  that  the  call  is  for  volunteers —  it  is  not  an  absolute 
command  for  service  !  It  appeals  to  a  portion  only  of  the  army, 
and  presupposes  repose  for  the  rest.  To  command  this  would 
be  a  hardship.  To  appeal  to  the  mounted  111311,  by  whom  alone 
the  duty  can  be  done,  is  all  that  remains  to  me,  as  governor  of 
the  state.  I  wait  for  your  reply." 
Suinter  instantly  answered  : — 

"The  scheme  is  a  good  one,  governor  —  admirable,  in  fact 
—  and  can  hardly  fail  to  produce  the  results  expected.     I  pre 
sume  you  can  hardly  doubt  tha^  I  am  ready  at  any  moment. 
I  think  I  may  safely  answer  for  my  command." 
"What  says  General  Marion?" 
Marion  smiled  as  he  answered : — 

"I  am  so  constantly  in  the  caddie,  governor,  that  I  am  afraid 
I  should  find  summer  quarters  tedious.     You  will  please  take 
for  granted  that  my  people  are  prepared  for  duty." 
"  Colonel  Lee  ? — Colonel  Washington  ?" 
Lee  answered  for  the  legion;    and    Washington  made  his 
great  sabre  answer  for  him,  drawing  it  half  out,  and  thrusting 
it  back  with  a  clang  that  sounded   effectively  his  only  half- 
spoken  sentence  of  approbation.     He  war  a  man  of  few  words, 
and  his  bright,  upward  look,  declared  his  readiness  for  a  share 
in  the  enterprise. 
*  It  was  then  scanned  in  all  its  details. 

"And  now,"  said  Rutledge,  "if  you  will  suffer  me,  General 
Greene,  I  will  nominate  General  Sumter  for  the  command  of 
the  whole  enterprise." 

Greene  bowed  his  head  affirmatively,  and  Sumter  quickly  said : 
"  I  am  greatly  honored,  sir,  in  your  own  and  the  choice  of 
the  governor.  I  accept  the  appointment  with  pride,  and  trust 
that  my  abilities  will  prove  worthy  of  your  confidence ;  will 
equal,  with  proper  performance,  my  own  desires,  and  realise  all 
the  results  which  you  anticipate  from  the  expedition." 


PLAN   FOR   THE   CAMPAIGN   OF   THE   DOG-DAYS.         521 

Rutledge  continued : — 

"  General  Marion  gives  me  to  understand,  General  Sumter 
that  he  will  gladly  serve  under  your  banner :  I  know  that  lie 
will  admirably  and  earnestly  second  all  your  enterprises ;  I 
take  for  granted  that  you  will  be  supported  with  equal  ardor 
by  Colonels  Washington  and  Lee,  Colonels  Lacy  and  Singleton, 
the  Hamptons,  Taylor,  Maham  and  Harden ;  all,  I  know,  will 
rejoice  to  engage  in  an  expedition,  the  duties  of  which  are  so 
honorable,  and  so  arduous,  and  which  promise  such  glorious 
results  to  the  country. 

"  Your  command,  General  Sumter,  as  General  Greene  advises 
me,  will  consist  of  all  the  state  troops,  the  legion  of  Colonel 
Lee,  and  a  detachment  of  artillery  with  a  single  field-piece  ;  in 
the  whole  about  one  thousand  men.  To  such  a  force  of  mounted 
men,  the  foe  can  oppose  nothing.  With  this  particular  arm, 
moving  with  your  accustomed  celerity,  you  may  surprise  all 
his  outposts  below,  capture  all  his  detachments,  or  compel  their 
rapid  flight  to  the  city.  These  are  the  objects  of  the  expedi 
tion  ;  the  farther  results  of  which  must  be  to  compel  the  army 
of  Rawdon  to  fall  back  for  its  own  safety,  upon  the  seaboard, 
where  we  hope  to  confine  him  for  the  future,  and  finally  con 
quer  and  expel  him  thence. 

"  With  your  permission,  General  Greene,  I  will  reserve  Major 
Sinclair,  whom  I  design  to  advance  to  a  colonelcy  in  the  state 
line,  for  a  separate  duty,  with  the  single  company  of  Captain 
St.  Julien.  He  will  co-operate,  as  occasion  serves,  with  the 
command  of  General  Sumter,  being  also  designed  for  service 
below.  The  command  of  General  Pickens,  will  need  the  same 
temporary  respite  with  the  infantry.  His  horses  are  exhausted 
in  the  pursuit  of  Cruger  and  the  tories,  as  he  himself  writes : 
'  So  exhausted  that  they  could  neither  get  up  with  the  enemy, 
nor,  if  they  could  succeed  in  doing  so,  get  away  from  him.' 
It  is  fortunate  that  ours  are  in  better  condition  for  the  great 
foray  which  we  now  contemplate  —  a  foray,  gentlemen,  which, 
I  trust,  will  make  itself  known  to  future  times,  as  the  '  Raid  of 
the  Dog-days,'  constituting,  as  it  will,  a  novelty  in  our  cam 
paign,  an  episode  of  peculiar  character  and  interest,  by  reason 
equally  of  its  own  glorious  results,  and  of  the  season  in  which 
it  is  undertake  i  —  a  season,  which,  hitherto,  lias  usually  giver 


^>  THE   FORAYERS. 

entire  repose  to  our  armies;  the  ardency  of  oiu-  sun  usually 
proving  quite  sufficient  to  subdue  the  ardency  of  our  patriotism. 
That  you  are  thus  prepared  to  deny  vourselves  the  usual  re 
spite,  adds  the  crowning  laurels  to  your  chivalry.  May  the 
God  of  battles  accord  you  the  health,  the  strength,  the  energy, 
which  are  essential  to  render  your  patriotism  famous  for  all 
future  times." 

And,  with  the  grace  of  the  accomplished  orator,  when  his 
task  is  done,  Rutledge  bowed  to  his  hearers,  then  especially  to 
Greene,  and  receding  a  pace,  remained  standing  while  the 
latter  came  forward. 

Greene,  without  being  an  eloquent  or  striking  speaker,  was 
an  impressive  one.  He  had  no  arts ;  his  manner  was  one  of 
great  simplicity,  but  of  great  directness.  Speaking  briefly,  and 
directly  to  the  point,  he  always  commanded  attention. 

"  You  have  heard,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  what  Governor 
Rutledge  has  so  well  delivered.  He  has  delivered  our  mutual 
wishes  and  opinions  already  agreed  upon  between  us,  and  has 
spoken,  I  am  glad  to  think,  your  sentiments  no  less  than  ours. 
In  the  selection  of  General  Sumter  for  the  command  of  this 
noble  enterprise,  in  which  you  are  to  engage,  his  choice  is  mine. 
In  the  indication  of  your  objects,  we  are  both  agreed  as  to  their 
results ;  and  in  your  hands  I  am  sure  we  shall  not  be  disap 
pointed  of  our  hopes.  It  remains  to  me  to  indicate  to  you  what 
I  conceive  to  be  the  best  routes  to  pursue  in  this  expedition. 
To  a  certain  extent,  several  bodies  of  troops  must,  for  awhile, 
act  independently.  They  will  consider  themselves  detached 
for  the  purpose,  subject  only  to  the  general  plan  of  operation, 
which  requires  their  early  return,  as  soon  as  each  special  separate 
object  •  is  attained,  to  the  headquarters  of  General  Sumter. 
These  detachments  will  sweep  down  by  every  road  or  avenue 
which  may  conduct  to  Charleston.  General  Sumter,  himself, 
with  such  a  force  as  he  shall  please  to  reserve  to  himself,  will 
pursue  the  Congaree  road  on  the  south  side  of  that  river,  and 
the  east  side  of  Cooper.  Colonel  Lee  with  the  legion,  will 
attempt  the  post  at  Dorchester.  But,  as  we  may  reasonably 
calculate  on  a  stout  resistance  from  the  garrison  ac  that  place, 
Colonel  Henry  Hampton,  will  co-operate  with  him  in  this 
object,  and,  after  securing  the  bridge  at  Dorchester,  with  a  de 


PLAN    FOR   THE    CAMPAIGN    OF   THE   DOG-DAYS.          523 

tacliment,  will   unite  the  rest   of   his    command   with  that  of 
Colonel   Lee.      Colonel  Wade   Hampton  will   also  co-operate 
with  these  hodies,  with  a  detachment  of  Sumtcr's  cavalry.     To 
one  of  these  parties,  must  be  assigned  the  task  of  securing  — 
holding  —  the  bridge  over  the  Four-Holes  creek,  in  order  that 
the  several  detachments,  operating  below,  may  be  advised  of 
the  movements  of  Rawdon's  force  at  Orangeburg.     A  detach 
ment  of  Marion's  men,  under  Colonel  Maham,  passing  the  head 
of  Cooper  river  and  Watboo  creek,  will  penetrate  below  to 
the  eastward  of   Biggin's  church,  and   destroy  the  bridge  of 
Watboo.     This  will  help  to  obstruct  the  retreat  of  the  garrison 
at  Biggin  and  Watboo.     A  detachment  passing  to  the  east  of 
Dorchester,  will   take  the  Wassamasaw  road    to  Goose-creek 
bridge;  and  cut  off  all  communication  between  Dorchester  and 
Monck's  Corner,  and  between  the  latter  place  and  Charleston 
by  the  route  west  of  Cooper  river.     You  thus,  General  Sumter, 
cover  all  the  possible  routes  for  the  escape  of  the  enemy  below. 
You  cut  oft'  all  his  communications.     You  isolate  him  at  Orange- 
burg,  and  destroy  every  post  of  rest  or  supply  between  him 
»  and   the  sea.     His  necessities  will  then   be  to   cut  his  way, 
through  us,  to  Charleston,;    and,  I   trust,  that,  with  the  rest 
afforded  us  now,  the  main  army  will  soon  be  in  a  condition  to 
render  this  a  fruitless  attempt!     We  may  even  hope,  gentle 
men,  to  add  to  the  laurels  of  the  south  a  Rawdonade  of  equal 
importance  with  the  Burgoynade  of  Saratoga. 

"  The  farther  details,  General  Sumter,  I  yield  with  confidence 
to  your  judgment  and  discretion. 

"  Gentlemen,  we  shall  march  with  the  dawn  for  the  Congaree. 
General  Pickens,  in  a  letter  just  received,  advises  me  that  Cru- 
ger  will  effect  his  junction  with  Rawdon  sometime  to-night. 
This  junction  will  place  him  in  command  of  three  thousand 
troops.  We  must  not  wait  for  bis  lordship  when  he  shall  be 
thus  strengthened.  Your  mounted  men  will  be  required  to  es 
cort  the  army  to  a  point  of  safety,  where  we  may  dispense 
with  your  further  assistance.  Colonel  Williams  will  see  that 
due  instructions  will  be  issued  in  general  orders  before  night. 
For  the  present  our  conference  is  ended.  Our  official  tasks  are 
over. —  Governor  Rutledge,  General  Sumter,  General  Marion  — 
gentlemen  all,  may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at 


524  THE  FORAYEttS. 

nupper.  1  k  jow  not  what  the  commissariat  and  cook  can  do 
for  us —  there  is  nothing  promising,  I  fear,  in  our  larder ;  but  1 
suspect  we  can  offer  you  as  wholesome  a  variety  as  can  be  found 
in  camp,  and  I  certainly  tender  you  as  warm  a  welcome." 

The  invitation  was  received  in  silence.  There  was  apparently 
some  embarrassment  among  the  group.  Greene  himself  began 
to  look  with  embarrassment  around  him  —  not  knowing  what  the 
silence  meant — when  Rutledge  with  a  merry  laugh,  exclaimed : — 

"  I  am  afraid,  general,  you  are  quite  too  late  with  these  gen 
tlemen  as  with  myself.  I  fancy  they  are  all  engaged  else 
where." 

Greene  looked  about  him  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  thought 
it  exceedingly  strange  that  anybody  in  the  army  should  be  able. 
in  the  present  condition  of  the  commissariat,  to  give  a  dinner, 
but  he  did  not  say  so.  He  knew  that  it  occasioned  him  no 
small  effort  to  supply  the  adequate  provision ;  and  who,  be 
sides,  so  capable  1  As  if  fully  comprehending  his  thoughts, 
Rutledge  continued :  — 

"  When  you  fancy,  general,  that  nobody  in  camp  is  likely  to 
offer  so  wholesome  a  variety  of  edibles  for  dinner  as  yourself,  1 
fancy  that  there  is  hardly  a  gentlenjan  present,  who  does  not 
please  himself  with  the  idea  that  you  are  mistaken.  Come,  sir, 
do  not  look  so  distressed.  You  are  yet  to  learn  what  resources 
are  possessed  by  these  wild  riders  of  our  friend  Marion.  I  do 
not  know  the  fact,  but  I  will  venture  a  goodly  dozen  of  old 
Madeira,  whenever  we  shall  be  able  to  get  at  the  Charleston 
cellars,  that  we  are  all  invited  to  the  same  mess.  I  confess 
myself  committed  too,  and  with  my  own  grateful  will,  and  grat 
ified  consent,  to  the  supper  of  Captain  Porgy  of  Marion's." 

"  And  I." 

«  And  I." 

"And  I," — from  all  present,  the  general  himself  and  Colonel 
Lee  excepted. 

"  Captain  Porgy  !"  said  Greene,  "  Captain  Porgy  !  Where 
have  I  heard  of  Captain  Porgy." 

"  From  me,  sir,  I  suspect,"  said  Lee  rather  sullenly.  "  I  have 
dined  and  supped  with  Captain  Porgy.  He  is  a  rare  compan 
ion — a  strange  fellow,  with  a  clever  French  faculty,  of  making 
a  dish  out  of  a  June  bug,  and  a  dinner  out  of— out  of—-" 


PLAN    FOR   THE,   CAMPAIGN   OF   THE    DOG-DAYS.         525 

"A  mere  matter  of  moonshine!"  added  Rutledge.  "And  a 
good  dish  and  dinner  lie  makes  of  it  too,  let  me  tell  you.  He 
will  contrive  to  sup  bountifully  upon  elements,  upon  which 
simpler  folks  would  starve.  If  Colonel  Lee  would  finish  now, 
he  will  tell  you  that  he  never  supped  better  in  his  life  than 
when  he  supped  with  Captain  Porgy." 

"  Never,  sir ;  I  admit  it.  I  did  not  feed  with  the  less  pleas 
ure  that  I  never  once  guessed  what  were  the  ingredients  of  the 
dish." 

"  Really,  gentlemen,"  said  Greene,  "  I  had  no  idea  that  I  had 
such  a  competitor.  And  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  have  ordered 
supper  foi  twenty,  and  find  myself  without  a  guest." 

And  the  general  really  appeared  much  mortified. 

"  Were  it  consistent  with  proper  discipline  and  military  prac 
tice,  general,"  quoth  Rutledge,  "  I  should  counsel  you  to  do  as 
the  rich  man  had  to  do  in  scripture,  who  made  a  great  feast, 
and,  like  yourself,  was  disappointed  in  his  fine  company  —  so 
sent  out  with  a  dragnet  and  took  in  the  lame,  halt,  blind,  and 
5very  way  destitute.  But  this  will  hardly  answer  in  our  day 
and  country.  But,  if  you  will  suffer  me,  I  will  reconcile  all  dif 
ficulties.  If  you  will  permit  me  to  order  your  cook  and  butler 
to  send  all  your  supplies  to  the  quarters  of  the  swamp-fox,  with 
my  respect  to  the  worthy  Captain  Porgy,  apprizing  him  that 
you  will  honor  his  table  to-night,  all  will  be  right.  I  will  take 
leave  to  include  Colonel  Lee  in  the  invitation." 

"  But  this  would  be  a  great  liberty,  governor,"  said  Greene. 

"  Not  a  whit,  sir.  Captain  Porgy  will  feel  himself  honorec|, 
I  assure  you  ;  —  nay,  will  be  greatly  pleased  that  we  have  dealt 
with  him  so  frankly.  He  is  a  gentleman,  sir,  of  an  old  house 
and  feather,  and  knows  how  to  requite  a  courtesy  whatever  its 
aspect." 

"But  —  we  shall  take  him  by  surprise — so  viany." 

"  You  forget  that  nearly  all  of  us  are  already  secured  as  his 
guests.  Beside,  you  will  send  over  your  own  sullies." 

Marion  sotto  voce — "  If  Porgy  will  suffer  them  to  he  brought 
on  table." 

And  he  whispered  to  Rutledge:  — 

"Let  the  meats  b3  sent  over  before  the  general's  cook  has 
touched  then.." 


526 


THE    FORAYERS. 


"Ely-lit!     I  comprehend,"  said  Rutledge,  in  a  whisper  also 
Then  aloud  — 

"  Trust  to  me,  general;  I  know  my  man  —  I  shall  be  careful 
not  to  commit  you.  I  confess  my  p.nxiety  that  you  should 
know  Captain  Porgy,  and  see  what  are  the  resources  of  our  Low- 
Country  partisans.  He  will  be  honored,  I  repeat,  by  our  frank 
proceedings  ;  and,"  in  a  whisper  —  "  the  effect  will  be  good  up  >r, 
our  people.  They  love  to  see  a  frank  simplicity  and  open  con 
fidence  in  great  men." 

Greene  smiled  at  the  compliment,  his  blue  eyes  looking  archly 
into  those  of  Hutledge  :  — 

"  Ah  !  governor,  you  are  more  of  a  tactician  than  any  mili 
tary  man  I  know." 

"  In  the  commissariat,  perhaps,"  responded  the  other.  "  Well, 
you  give  me  permission." 

"  If  you  say  so." 

"I  do !  and  will  give  all  the  necessary  orders,  despatch  a 
a  note  to  our  host,  and  send  over  the  provisions.  But  the 
latter  must  be  done  at  once,  and  before  your  cook  has  handled 
them." 

"  Why  so  —  why  not  let  them  be  dressed  ?"  said  Greene. 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons.  If  dressed,  they  would  be  held  in 
no  condition  for  Captain  Porgy's  table.  Do  not  be  mortified,  gen 
eral,  to  be  told,  that  your  cuisinier  would  never  receive  his  diplo 
ma  from  the  hands  of  Captain  Porgy.  lie  is  a  martinet  in  the 
kitchen.  He  refines  upon  soups,  is  sublime  in  sauces,  and  alto 
gether  scorns  and  despises  the  cruel  maceration  of  meat  in  hot 
waters,  which  is  the  vulgar  usage  of-  our  cooks  in  camp.  Un 
derstand,  again,  that  Captain  Porgy  is  no  vulgai  person ;  but  a 
rare  fellow  for  company,  a  man  of  soul  and  humor,  and  at  his 
table  you  will  be  sure  to  find  an  appetite  though  you  had  al 
ready  fed  to  surfeit.  As  Colonel  Lee  says,  you  must  be  wise 
enough  to  take  your  supper  as  you  take  your  religion  with  a 
perfect  faith, «vhich  is  never  guilty  of  the  impertinence  of  Peter, 
of  questioning  the  cleanness  of  the  meats  which  Providence  has 
furnished." 

"But  everything's  wholesome!"  said  Greene,  with  a  sim 
plicity  which  argued  his  Rhode  Island  ignorance  of  such  au 
thorities  as  Ude,  and  Glass,  and  Savarin. 


PLAN    FOR   THE   CAMPAIGN    OF   THK    DOG-DAYS. 

"Wholesome!"  exclaimed  Lee  —  "By  Jupiter,  General 
Greene,  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  tasted  wholesome  food 
since  my  last  supper  with  Captain  Porgy.  I  know  not  why 
he  has  not  invited  me,  since  I  am  very  sure  no  man  could  have 
done  more  justice  to  his  fare." 

Lee  was  evidently  piqued. 

"  An  omission  easily  accounted  for,  Colonel  Lee,"  answered 
Rutledge  promptly,  "  since  you  had  not  come  in  from  befow, 
when  the  invitations  were  sent  out;  no  one  could  say  that  you 
would  be  in  to-night.  I  take  upon  myself  to  say  that  no  one 
will  be  morn  welcome  to  his  table  than  yourself." 

"  Well,  if  the  taste  to  do  justice  to  his  table  is  sufficient  com 
mendation,  I  may  safely  assert  that  you  are  right,"  said  Lee, 
his  complacency  always  making  belief  easy,  in  respect  to  his 
own  welcome.  Marion  looked  grave,  but  said  nothing.  He 
knew  that  Porgy  would  not,  of  himself,  invite  Lee.  He  had 
too  seriously  displeased  the  partisans ;  but  Marion  was  not  dis 
pleased  that  Lee  should  invite  himself,  which,  in  his,  as  in  the 
case  of  Greene,  was  substantially  the  fruit  of  Eutledge's  diplom 
acy.  The  latter,  as  usual,  had  his  own  way.  The  despat"\i 
was  sent  to  Porgy,  and  Greene's  cook  was  seasonably  arrested 
in  the  very  act  of  doing  murder  upon  his  edibles.  The  party 
adjourned  to  meet  at  the  sylvan  camp  of  the  swamp -fox 


62S  THE   FORAYEBS. 


OHAPTER   XLV. 

DOINGS    IN    THR    APOLLO    CHAMBER. 

OiJ ft  ^artisan  division  of  the  army,  with  tlieir  liorsos,  occupied 
no  small  extent  of  territory.  Our  Captain  PorgT,  himself,  with 
his  little  personal  equipage,  demanded  considerable  space.  He 
was  the  person  always  to  secure  that  "  ample  room  and  ver<£e 
enough,"  which,  as  he  himself  said,  were  essential  to  iiis  indi 
vidual  girth.  "My  breadth  of  belt,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "in; 
plies  a  fair  field  ;  and,  having  that,  I  ask  no  favors."  Besides 
being  of  social  habits,  his  mess  was  always  a  large  one.  Among 
his  immediate  associates,  retainers  rather,  he  kept  not  only  his 
cook,  but  his  poet ;  the  one  almost  as  necessary  as  the  other. 
Then,  he  never  was  without  a  guest,  and  whenever  his  commis 
sariat  was  particularly  well  supplied,  he  was  sure  to  have  a  full 
table.  Such  an  idea  as  a  good  table,  without  an  adequate  num 
ber  of  guests  to  enjoy  it,  seemed  to  him  a  thing  vile,  unreason 
able,  inhuman,  and  utterly  unchristian.  We  have  seen  that, 
particularly  fortunate  in  his  foray  among  the  green-jacketed 
denizens  of  the  Caw-caw,  he  had  made  arrangements  for  a 
larger  circle  than  usual.  His  own  tastes  and  purposes  requiring 
it,  Captain  Porgy  usually  chose  his  own  ground  whenever  tents 
were  to  be  pitched.  He  had  a  great  eye  to  proper  localities. 

"  The  open  woods,  on  the  south  and  west,"  was  his  rule. 
"  Let  the  swamp  and  thicket  cover  my  back  on  the  east.  That 
east  wind  has  been  of  evil  tendency  from  the  earliest  periods  of 
time.  The  Bible  speaks  of  it.  A  bad-tempered  person,  soured 
and  surly,  growling  always,  and  insufferable  from  bile  and  con 
ceit,  is  said  to  fill  his  bowels  with  the  east  wind.  It  has  a  bad 
effect  on  the  best  bowels.  Give  me  just  opening  enough  on  the 
east  for  the  purposes  of  draught,  but  let  your  tent  be  open  to  the 
full  pressure  of  the  winds  from  south  and  west.  You  need,  in 


DOINGS   IN   THE   APOLLO    CHAMBER.  629 

our  climate,  an  eastern  opening  at  the  dinner-hour,  dining  at 
three,  or  thereabout;  but  beware  of  it  after  the  sun  has  set. 
Don't  sleep  with  the  east  wind  blowing  upon  you.  If  you  do, 
face  it  —  let  your  feet  receive  it  first.  Every  wind  that  blows 
has  a  specific  quality.  The  east,  northeast,  and  southeast,  are 
all  more  or  less  pernicious,  muddy,  insidious,  hateful  Our  natu 
ral  winds  in  midsummer  are  from  the  south  and  west.  The 
south  persuades  you  to  languor,  pleasantly  relaxes,  discourages 
the  exertion  which  would  be  too  exhaustive  for  the  season.  The 
west  is  the  agitator,  the  thunder-storm  wind,  that  purges  and 
purifies  •  the  northwest  is  the  cleaning  wind,  that  sweeps  up  the 
sky,  and  brushes  off  all  its  cobwebs.  Each  wind  having  thus  a 
specific  mission,  it  is  wonderful  that  men  who  build  know  so 
little  of  the  means  of  ventilation.  Now,  you  sec,  I  choose  my 
ground  with  an  open  pine-forest  in  front,  that  is  south  and  west 
and  northwest.  I  take  care  that  the  land  slopes  down  from  me 
in  all  these  directions.  If  there  be  hill,  swamp,  or  dense  thick 
et,  I  put  them,  with  the  devil,  behind  me.  I  have  here  chosen 
the  very  pleasantest  spot  in  the  whole  encampment.  There  is 
not  one  of  these  continental  officers  who  knows  anything  of  the 
subject.  Yet,  to  the  health  of  an  army,  a  difference  of  fifty 
yards  in  the  location  of  a  camp,  is  very  frequently  all  the  dif 
ference  between  life  and  death  !" 

And,  in  that  broad,  terrace-like  spread  of  wood  and  thicket, 
he  had  chosen  the  most  agreeable  region.  The  pine-woods 
opened  at  his  feet,  and  spread  away  almost  interminably,  giv 
ing  the  necessary  degree  of  shade,  yet  leaving  free  passage 
for  the  wind. 

"  Free  circulation,  Geordie  Dennison,"  said  he,  as  with  hands 
outspread  he  seemed  to  welcome  the  gentle  play  of  the  breezes 
reeking  up  from  the  southwest — "that  is  the  secret  of  health 
—  free  circulation  for  the  winds,  the  waters,  and  the  blood.  It 
is  stagnation  that  is  death.  This  is  the  reason  why  a  pine- 
forest  is  more  healthy  than  any  other.  It  is  the  only  forest  that 
tufiers  free  play  to  the  winds.  Hence  you  hear  the  music  in 
a,  pine-forest  which  you  hear  in  no  other.  The  breezes  pour 
through,  and  swell  up,  until  all  the  tree-tops  become  so  many 
organ-pipes.  The  vulgar  notion  is  that  there  is  some  virtue  in 
the  od  ir  of  the  pines  to  neutralize  malaria.  But  this  is  all  non 

ii 


530  THE    FORAYERS. 

sense.  Pine-woods  that  have  a  dense  undergrowth,  a  e  iiot  more 
healthy  than  any  other.  It  is  the  shape  of  the  tree,  a  tall  col 
umn,  without  lateral  branches,  naked  a  hundred  feet  high,  and 
arching  above,  umbrella  fashion,  into  a  grand  ceiling,  which 
shuts  out  the  intense  heat  of  the  sun,  and  siiffers  free  exercise 
to  the  breeze.  Here  it  plays  with  delight  and  impunity.  In 
the  dense  thickets  it  trickles  only,  and  finally  stagnates  ;  and 
hence  the  fevers  of  uncleared  lands.  Bays,  swamps,  ponds,  are 
unhealthy,  not  because  of  the  water  which  they  contain,  but  be 
cause  of  the  dense  thickets  which  they  nurture.  The  hottest 
place  in  the  world  in  midsummer,  is  a  deep  forest  or  thicket, 
with  a  close  undergrowth.  Fools  talk  of  decaying  vegetation 
as  the  secret  of  disease  ;  yet  when  our  fevers  are  raging  most, 
vegetation  has  not  begun  to  decay.  Gardens,  fields,  forests,  are 
never  more  fresh  and  beautiful,  never  more  vigorous  and  ver 
dant,  than  when  death  seems  lurking  under  every  flower,  like 
some  venomous  reptile  watching  for  and  creeping  to  the  ear  of 
the  unconscious  sleeper.  But,  Geordie  Dennison,  boy,  once 
suppose  that  the  air  is  stagnant  in  any  locality,  and  you  need 
not  suppose  the  necessity  for  its  impregnation  by  any  deleteri 
ous  agent.  A  stagnant  atmosphere  is,  per  se,  malaria.  And 
that  fact  that  we  can  assign  a  distinct  locality  .for  the  disease  — 
that  we  can  say  with  confidence,  to  sleep  here  is  death,  while 
you  may  sleep  with  safety  within  half  a  mile  —  establishes  the 
fact  conclusively  that  the  atmosphere  is  localized  —  no  matter 
by  what  cause  —  though  even  that  is  a  matter  which  I  have 
.considered  also  —  and  once  let  the  atmosphere  be  fixed,  and  it 
is  only  in  degree  that  it  differs  from  that  of  an  old  sink  or  well. 
It  is  putrid,  and  To  inhale  it  is  a  danger.  You  can  not  impreg 
nate  with  miasina  any  region,  where  the  winds  are  allowed  to 
penetrate  freely  from  three  points  of  the  compass,  and  where 
they  do  penetrate.  When  we  are  very  sickly,  you  will  always 
find  a  pressure  of  winds,  daily  from  a  single  quarter,  for  a  long- 
continued  period  of  time.  The  atmosphere  loses  its  equilib 
rium,  as  it  were;  the* winds  lack  their  balance;  and  running 
one  course  only,  they  run  into  a  cul  de  sac,  as  water  that  can  not 
escape,  rises  to  a  level  with  its  source,  becomes  a  pond,  and  stag 
nates.  A  thunder-storm  purifies,  not  from  its  electricity,  as  some 
contend,  but  because  it  is  a  storm.  All  storms  purify  because 


DOINGS    IN   THE    APOLLO    CHAMBER.  531. 

they  agitate.     They  disperse  the  local  atmosphere  overa  thou 
sand  miles  of  space,  and  restore  its  equilibrium." 

"  But,  Captain  Porgy,  were  it  not  better  that  you  should  bo 
thinking  of  your  supper  and  company,  instead  of  philosophizing 
here  about  the  atmosphere?" 

"  It  is  because  I  am  thinking  of  my  company  and  supper, 
Master  Geordie,  that  I  do  philosophize  about  the  atmosphere. 
A  wholesome  atmosphere  is  half  of  a  good  supper.  We  can 
eschew  the  water.  We  need  not  drink  that,  if  we  can  find  any 
other  liquor ;  but  make  what  wry  faces  we  will,  the  atmosphere 
we  must  drink,  even  though  we  know  it  to  be  impregnated  with 
poison.  Better  drink  the  vilest  ditcli-water  a  thousand  times. 
That  may  disorder  the  stomach,  but  the  other  must  vitiate  the 
lungs  and  so  directly  disease  the  blood  and  the  heart.  I  am 
trying  to  teach  you,  sir,  that  in  giving  a  good  supper  or  dinner 
to  your  friends,  you  are  to  serve  it  up  in  properly-ventilated 
apartments." 

"  Well,  we  have  it  airy  enough  here." 

"  True ;  but  had  it  been  left  to  anybody  else,  ten  to  one  you 
would  have  had  our  tents  pitched  in  a  villanous  thicket  where 
we  never  could  have  got  a  breath  of  air.  Look,  now,  at  the 
Legion  encamped  on  the  left ;  they  are  in  a  bottom,  the  breeze 
passing  clean  over  their  heads.  Their  camp-master  had  no 
idea  of  what  was  the  duty  to  be  done,  beyond  the  simply  get 
ting  room  enough  for  the  horses  and  wagons  of  some  three  hun 
dred  men.  Sir,  the  partisan  cavalry  have  never  been  so 
healthy  as  when  I  have  been  permitted  to  select  the  ground  for 
their  bivouac." 
"That's  true!" 

"  To  be  sure  it's  true ;  and  you  see  the  fruits  of  it  in  the 
pleasant  sleeps  that  we  enjoy,  and  the  hardy  elasticity  with 
which  we  travel.  There  never  was  any  people  so  exposed  as 
ours  have  been,  nigh.t  and  day,  in  all  weathers,  and  the  most 
wearisome  marches,  that  have  ever  enjoyed  such  admirable 
health.  And  they  owe  it  to  me,  sir— to  me,  Geordie  Dennison 
—yet,  d— n  'em,  they  are  not  half  so  grateful  for  this  blessing 
as  for  my  soups  and  suppers.  They  would  readily  compound 
to  arink  any  quantity  of  malaria,  if  they  could  swallow  a  pint 
of  my  rum-punch  after  it." 


532  THE   FORAYERS. 

» 

"  A.h,  they  regard  the  rum-pnnch  as  the  antidote,  ind  there 
is  nothing  unreasonable,  therefore,  in  their  practice.  But,  cap 
tain,  the  hour  latens." 

"  Latens  !     By  what  right  do  you  use  that  word  ?" 

"  It's  a  good  word,  captain." 

"  So  it  is ;  but  I  never  heard  it  used  before." 

"  Very  likely ;  but  would  you  permit  that  argument  to  be 
used  against  any  new  dish  that  Tom  should  put  on  the  fable 
to-night !" 

"  No,  sir ;  no,  Geordie,  you  are  right.  You  could  not  have 
answered  me  better  if  you  had  argued  a  thousand  years.  And 
I  will  remember  the  word  ;  —  so,  as  the  hour  latens,  Geordie,  get 
up  and  help  me  with  these  tables.  I  must  summon  Frampton 
and  Millhouse.  We  shall  need  their  knives  and  hatchets.  I 
have  invited  thirty-one  guests,  Geordie,  not  counting  you  and 
Lance  ;  we  three  will  make  the  number  thirty-four.  There's  no 
such  table  to  be  spread  in  camp  to-night.  Think  of  it ;  —  a  sim 
pie  captain  of  militia  giving  a  supper  to  thirty  guests,  and  upon 
such  short  commons  as  are  allowed  us.  Half  of  the  poor  devils 
in  camp  think  it  monstrous  impudent  of  me  to  give  a  supper  at 
all  —  and  to  thirty  persons " 

"  They  can't  guess  how  it's  to  be  done." 

"  No  !  indeed  !  the  blockheads  !  But  their  vexation  increases 
when  they  find  my  guests  all  outranking  myself.  The  envious 
rascals!  Beware  of  envy,  Geordie  —  it  is  the  dirtiest,  sneak- 
ingest,  meanest  little  passion  in  the  world,  the  younger  brother 
of  vanity,  furnishing  all  the  venom  to  its  sleek-skinned  and 
painted  senior." 

"  And  you  are  to  have  the  governor,  captain  V 

"Ay,  he  accepts.  John  Rutledge  is  a  great  fellow,  without 
affectation,  Geordie  —  no  pretender  —  one  of  the  few  men  who 
really  do  think.  The  greater  number,  even  when  they  greatly 
rank,  only  repeat  each  other  —  they  do  not  think  Thought, 
George  Dennison,  is  really  confined  to  a  very  few  Men,  as  a 
race,  are  not  thinking  animals.  They  are  gregarious  and  imi 
tative.  They  go  in  droves  and  follow  a  leader,  whom  they  con 
trive  after  a  while  to  mimic  after  a  monkey  fashion.  Thought 
is  always  an  individual.  But  —  where  is- that  boy  Frampton 
Sound  your  whistle,  George." 


DOINGS    IN    THE    APOLLO    CHAMBER.  533 

The  whistle  was  sounded. 

"Now  help  me  with  these  poles.  There  are  forty  cut.  We 
must  have  crotch-sticks  —  two,  four,  six,  eight,  ten,  twelve  —  it 
will  require  twenty-four ;  we  must  make  our  tahles  solid." 

Lance  Frampton  now  appeared,  followed  by  half  a  dozen 
stout  young  .roopers,  bearing  slim  green  poles  upon  their  shoul 
ders,  forked  sticks,  and  all  the  appliances  necessary  to  the  con 
struction  of  the  rustic  tables  and  seats  of  the  company.  Long 
practice  had  made  all  of  them  familiar  with  the  rude  sort  of 
manufacture  which  was  required.  The  crotch-sticks  were  soon 
driven  upright  into  the  ground,  in  frequent  parallels  ;  cross 
pieces  were  laid  in  the  crotchets  of  these,  and  the  poles  were 
stretched  along,  forming  a  crossed  table  with  four  ends,  for  so 
many  dignitaries,  and  capable  to  accommodate  forty  guests 
with  ease.  Of  a  similar,  but  stouter  fashion,  were;  the  seats  for 
the  guests.  It  was  surprising  how  soon  the  area  was  filled  —  how 
soon  the  mechanical  preparations  for  the  feast  were  fashioned. 
The  amphitheatre  beneath  the  pines  was  ample.  Porgy,  as  he 
boasted,  had  the  proper  eye  for  a  locality.  When  reared  and 
steadied,  stanchioned  and  strengthened,  the  tables  were  covered 
with  great  oak-leaves,  green,  looking  very  clean,  nice,  and  fresh 
—  a  verdant  tablecloth. 

"  Now,  see  that  you  have  torches,  Lance ;  for,  though  we 
have  a  glorious  moon,  we  need  torches  for  the  dark  corners. 
Many  of  the  guests  will  bring  their  negroes  to  wait.  But  we 
shall  need  some  waiters  besides.  Engage  some  of  these  young 
chaps.  They  shall  sweep  the  platters  clean.  Forget  nothing, 
boy.  We  are  to  have  big  wigs  to  supper,  remember.  Geordie, 
come  with  me  to  our  wagon.  I  think  we  shall  astonish  these 
epauleted  gentry  to-night." 

And  the  two  turned  off  to  another  part  of  the  wood  where 
stood  the  little  wagon  already  described  —  a  sort  of  covered 
box  —  a  thing  which  one  man  might  have  rolled,  but  to  which 
a  couple  of  stout  hackneys  were  harnessed,  when  taken. 

"  Little,"  said  Porgy,  as  he  unlocked  the  cover  of  the  vehicle, 
"little  did  stuttering  Pete  dream  what  he  lost  and  we  gained, 
when  we  cut  on0  the  four  wagons  of  Stewart.  His  eyes  opened 
only  upon  the  big  wagons.  He  never  gave  a  look  at  the  one 
little  one  upon  wl  ich  I  fastened  —  as  if  the  most  precious  com- 


534  THE    FOIIAYEKS. 

modities  were  not  always  packed  in  the  smallest  compass  1 
Yet,  look  there,  Geordie." 

The  poet  looked  in  : — 

"  Lemons,  captain." 

"  Ay,  lemons  and  white  sugar,  and  nutmegs,  and  cloves,  and 
spices  of  all  sorts,  and  an  anchor  of  Geneva,  and  a  box  of  cocoa, 
and  a  bag  of  coffee,  and  a  good  supply  of  old  Jamaica,  and,  see 
you  that  keg?  —  tongues,  beef-tongues,  English  beef-tongues. 
Now  please  you  to  read  the  name  on  the  cover ;  ay !  Lord 
Rawdon's  own  prog,  by  the  pipers,  specially  selected  for  his 
table  and  palate.  We  shall  astonish  these  wooden-headed 
continentals  to-night,  Geordie  !  won't  we  ?  You  thought  me 
rnad,  didn't  you,  when  I  invited  so  many  ?  But  I  knew  what 
I  was  about.  They  shall  stare,  they  shall  sup,  though  they 
lament  for  ever,  after  the  acquisition  of  such  a  taste  as  their 
vulgar  fortunes  can  never  hereafter  satisfy.  But  mum !  Not 
a  word  in  anticipation." 

And  Porgy  chsed  the  wagon  with  haste  and  locked  it,  as 
half  a  dozen  troopers  lounged  carelessly  by,  looking,  with  some 
curiosity  as  they  passed,  to  the  proceedings  of  the  two. 

"  Stay  here,  Geordie,  and  keep  watch  till  I  return.  I  must 
put  Millhouse  on  duty  over  this  wagon,  or  there  will  be  a  Flem 
ish  account  of  its  contents  when  supper's  called.  The  morals 
of  the  dragoon  service,  imply  theft  as  a  necessity.  A  good 
scout  has  all  the  capabilities  of  a  good  pickpocket." 

And,  moralizing  as  he  went,  Porgy  hurried  off  for  succor. 
Dennisou  was  relieved  by  Millhouse,  a  one-armed  trooper  of 
iron  aspect,  and  as  stubborn  of  purpose  as  a  mule.  The  wagon 
was  safe  in  his  keeping  as  long  as  his  left  arm  could  lift  sabre 
or  pistol  —  and  he  was  duly  armed  with  both. 

The  next  visit  of  our  host  was  to  Tom,  the  cook,  who  had  a 
precinct  of  his  own,  some  twenty-five  yards  from  tne  spot  where 
the  tables  had  been  spread.  The  terrapin  soup  was  discussed, 
the' ragout ;  the  stew ;  the  boiled  tongues ;  nothing  escaped 
attention.  Then,  a  survey  was  taken  of  the  crockery ;  the 
bowls,  plates,  dishes ;  the  knives  and  forks ;  the  spoons  of  iron, 
the  drinking  vessels  of  delph,  tin,  or  calabash.  These  commod 
ities  were  too  frail  of  character,  not  to  need  the  greatest  care 
and  attention ;  and  every  feast  given  by  our  captain,  mortified 


DOINGS   IN    THE   APOLLO    CHAMBEil.  685 

him  with  the  slenderness  of  his  resources.  "But  there  was  no 
remedy.  If  half  a  dozen  good  bowls  of  delph,  and  platters  of 
tin,  could  be  provided  for  the  more  distinguished  guests,  the 
rest  might  surely  be  satisfied  with  clean  calabashes.  We  will 
suppose  our  captain  satisfied  in  respect  to  these  things.  He 
was  ill  the  midst  of  the  examination,  however,  venting  his  an- 
liuyances  at  his  limited  resources,  in  uneasy  exclamations,  when 
a  messenger  from  Rutledge  brought  him  the  note  from  that  per 
sonage  apprizing  him  that  Greene  and  Lee  would  appear  among 
his  guests.  The  governor  wrote: — 

"  I  shall  take  the  liberty,  my  dear  Captain  Porgy,  of  bring 
ing  with  me  a  couple  of  additional  guests,  in  General  Greene 
and  Colonel  Lee,  knowing  that  your  provision  will  not  only  be 
ample,  but  that  the  taste  which  usually  presides  over  your  ban 
quets  will  give  to  our  friends  from  Rhode  Island  and  Virginia 
such  a  notion  of  the  tastes  of  Apicius  and  Lucullus,  as  certainly 
never  yet  dawned  upon  them  in  their  own  half-civilized  regions. 
Your  own  courtesy  will  do  the  rest  and  will,  I  trust,  sufficiently 
justify  the  confidence  with  which  I  have  insisted  upon  their 
coming.  "  Yours, 

"JonN  RUTLEDGE" 

"Humph  !"  exclaimed  Porgy,  "I  should  not  have  ventured 
to  ask  General  Greene,  not  that  I  stand  in  awe  of  his  epaulettes, 
but  it  is  so  rare  to  find  a  parvenu  who  would  not  hold  such  an  in 
vitation  from  a  poor  captain  of  militia,  to  be  a  piece  of  imper 
tinence  and  presumption.  Our  own  folks  know  me  too  well  to 
exhibit  any  such  gaucherie.  As  for  Lee,  he  is  a  popinjay  !  I 
should  never  ask  him  myself;  but  have  no  objection  that  lie 
should  occasionally  appear  among  gentlemen  who  can  teach 
him,  by  example,  how  gentlemen  can  be  good  fellows  without 
any  loss  of  dignity. —  Geordie — your  pen  and  a  scrap  of  paper. 
1  hope  I  diminish  none  of  your  verses  by  consuming  your 
foolscap." 

The  pen  and  paper  were  had,  and  our  captain  wrote : — 

"  Govern  Jr  Rutledge  can  take  no  liberty  for  the  propriety 
of  which  his  name  is  not  a  sufficient  guaranty.  Captain  Porgy 
will  be  most  happy  to  welcome  any  guests  whom  he  may  think 
proper  to  bring." 

This  written,  he  handed  it  to  thi  messenger.     It  was  then 


636  THE   FORAYERS. 

that  Greene's  cook  uncovered  a  small  tumbril  or  box  h,  a 
wheelbarrow,  containing  tlie  uncooked  provisions  which  ha,d 
been  destined  for  his  own  table.  Porgy  looked  at  the  bloody 
and  livid  meats  with  unqualified  disgust. 

"  But,"  said  he  sotto  vocc,  "  we  can't  reject  them.    Here,  Tom." 

The  cook  appeared,  apron  in  front  and  knife  in  hand. 

"  Tom,  take  charge  of  these  provisions.  They  are  sent  by 
the  general  —  General  Greene,  do  you  hear?  Use  them.  Cook 
them.  Turn  them  into  soup,  hash,  steak,  what  you  will!" 
then,  as  the  messengers  of  llutledge  and  Greene  disappeared  — 
"  but  d — m  you,  boy,  don't  let  them  show  themselves  upon  my 
table.  The  meat  is  villanously  butchered.  That  alone  should 
condemn  it.  Make  it  up  for  some  of  these  young  fellows  that 
have  been  working  for  us.  And  —  Tom — " 

''Well,  maussa  —  talk  quick." 

"  Don't  forget  the  balls.     Let  there  be  a  plenty  in  the  soup." 

"  Psho,  maussa,  enty  I  know." 

"Enough!     Begone!" 

The  active  mind  of  our  corpulent  captain  began  to  grow 
restless.  He  had  seen  to  everything  that  he  could  think  of,  and 
grew  peevish  from  nothing  to  do.  Suddenly  he  stuck  his  fin 
gers  into  his  hair. 

"No!  the  vessels  for  the  punch;  Geordie.  By  heavens,  I 
had  almost  forgotten.  Let  us  after  the  punchbowls,  and  then 
*or  the  manufacture.  You  are  good  at  that ;  a  poet  should  be. 
Curious  problem,  Geordie  —  the  affinity  between  poetry  and  the 
bottle." 

"  Not  at  all.  It  only  implies  the  ardency  of  the  poet.  It  is 
so  with  the  orator.  You  never  saw  poet  or  orator  yet,  that  was 
not  ardent  and  fond  of  the  juices  of  the  grape." 

"  Not  the  didactic  orders,  surely.  But  how  is  it,  then,  that 
Bacchus  is  not  your  deity  instead  of  Apollo  ?" 

"  Because  Apollo,  with  virtues  of  his  own,  includes  those  of 
Bacchus.  He  is  a  ripener  of  Bacchus,  and  loves  not  the  wine 
less,  nor  is  less  the  true  god  of  it,  because  he  employs  a  vintner 
I  see  no  difficulty  in  the  matter." 

"  And,  perhaps,  there  is  none.  Yet  what  would  Apollo  say, 
or  Bacchus  even,  to  such  a  punchbowl  as  ours." 

And  he  pointed  to  an  enormous  calabash,  holding  a  couple 


DOINGS   IN    THE    APOLLO    CHAMBER.  537 

of  gallons  at  the  least,  tl  i  t,  duly  valued  and  taken  care  of,  had 
survived  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  campaign. 

"  They  would,  either  of  them,  feel  that  there  was  wholesome 
propriety  in  the  vessel.  It  is  one  which  Ceres  has  presented 
for  the  occasion,  to  a  kindred  deity.  Boon  nature  has  provided 
where  vulgar  art  has  failed.  It  would  be  much  more  staggering 
to  either  of  the  ancient  gods  ta  try  them  with  the  Jamaica, 
instead  of  the  blood  of  Tuscany." 

"  Ah  !  they  never  got  such  liquor  on  Olympus.  Their  nectar 
was  a  poor  wishy-washy  sort  of  stuff,  of  not  more  body  tliau 
some  of  those  thin  vaporing  French  and  German  liquors,  of 
which  we  have  had  a  taste  occasionally.  Their  wine  of  Tus 
cany,  nay,  the  Falernian  of  Horace,  would  not  take  rank  now-a- 
days  with  the  juices  of  the  common  corn,  prepared  according 
to  our  process.  Drinking  whiskey  or  Jamaica,  Nero  might 
have  been  a  fool,  a  wretch,  a  murderer  —  might  fire  his  city  or 
butcher  his  mother-— might  have  committed  any  crime,  but 
cowardice !  Whiskey  or  Jamaica  might  have  saved  Rome 
from  Gaul  and  Vandal.  The  barbarians,  be  sure,  drank  the 
most  potent  beverages." 

"  A  notion  deserving  of  study.  We  drink  deep  now-a-days. 
Will  our  descendants  beat  us  ?  Will  they  laugh  at  our  potations, 
which  rarely  leave  a  gentleman  on  his  legs  after  midnight  ?" 

"  Ah  !  say  nothing  of  our  progeny.  Do  not  build  upon  the 
degenerates.  It  may  be  that  the  milksops  will  fancy  it  bad 
taste,  nay,  even  immoral,  on  the  part  of  their  ancestors,  to  have 
swallowed  Jamaica  or  whiskey  at  all.  In  proportion  as  theii 
heads  are  weak,  will  they  pronounce  ours  vicious ;  and  just 
because  we  have  a  certain  amount  of  strength  in  our  virtue  — 
a  certain  quality  of  brawn  and  blood  and  muscle,  to  keep  our 
sentiment  from  etherealizing  —  growing  into  mere  thin  air  — 
will  they  presume  to  stroke  their  beards  in  self-complaisant 
satisfaction,  thanking  God  that  such  poor  publicans,  have  given 
way  to  a  more  saintly  race  of  sinners.  I  am  half  inclined  to 
thank  my  stars  that,  when  I  disappear,  the  race  of  Porgy  will 
not  be  continued  in  the  person  of  one  who  prides  himself  upon 
having  no  head  —  for  a  bottle  !" 

•*  Yes !  save  us  from  all  degenerate  children.  But,  captain, 
will  this  one  calabash  of  punch  suffice  for  forty  ?  Impossible 

23* 


538  THE   PORAYERS.( 

Two  gallons  among  forty  !  Never  in  tlie  world !  Why,  <sir, 
there  are  three  generals,  and  one  governor,  a  score  of  colonels, 
and  others  of  inferior  rank,  who  are  emulous  of  great  men's 
virtues.  Two  gallons  to  forty  such  persons." 

"  Oh !  don't  stop  to  calculate.  Luckily  there  are  two  cala 
bashes." 

And  the  little  wagon  yielded  up  the  desired  article. 

"  Make  it  rich,  Geordie." 

"  Captain  Porgy,  when  they  drink  of  this  liquor,  each  man 
will  feel  that  his  will  has  been  made.  He  will  feel  that  he  has 
no  more  car|^n  life  —  will  fold  his  robes  about  him  for  flight." 

"  Or  fall !  Well,  give  us  a  taste.  I  profess  to  be  a  very 
competent  judge  of  what  a  good  Jamaica  punch  should  be." 

Smacks  his  lips. 

"  The  proportions  are  good :  the  acid  has  yielded  to  the 
embrace  of  the  sugar  with  the  recognition  of  a  perfect  faith, 
and  both  succumb  to  the  spirit,  as  with  the  recognition  of  a 
perfect  deity.  Neyt  to  poetry,  Geordie,  you  are  an  adept  at 
punch," 

Geordie  somewhat  proudly  :— 

"  Yes,  captain,  on  this  score  I  feel  safe.  I  am  not  always 
certain  of  my  verses.  I  sometimes  feel  that  they  lack  the 
sweet  and  the  ardent — but  I  am  never  doubtful  of  the  perfect 
harmony  that  prevails  among  all  the  elements  when  I  manufac 
ture  punch." 

Porgy  quaffs  off  the  contents  of  the  dipper. 

"  Geordie,  you  are  a  benefactor.  When  this  war  ceases,  you 
shall  partake  my  fortunes.  You  shall  live  with  me ;  and,  be 
tween  punch  and  poetry,  we  will  make  the  latter  end  of  life 
a  felicitous  Jinale  to  a  very  exciting  drama.  By  the  way, 
Geordie,  talking  of  poetry  and  punch  reminds  me.  You  must 
bo  prepared  with  something  good  to-night.  I  shall  have  you 
out.  You  shall  give  us  some  heroic  ballad.  I  know  you  have 
not  been  drowsing  in  that  thicket  for  nothing.  Have  you  got 
any  thing  ready  ?" 

"  I  have  been  doing  a  trifle,  but — '  •%• 

"  None  of  your  buts.  Get  aside,  and  memorize  it.  These 
two  vessels  of  punch,  meanwhile,  we  will  put  under  lock  and 
key,  and  yiell  to  the  guardianship  of  Sergeant  Millhouse." 


HOW    PORGY    FEASTED   THE   CAPTAINS.  5£9 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

HOW  PORGY  FEASTED  THE  CAPTAINS. 

W  Til  vulgar  people,  a  dinner  party  is  the  occasion  of  much 
fuss  and  fidgeting.  The  vulgar  egotism  is  always  on  the  qui 
vive  lest  something  should  go  wrong — -lest  something  should  be 
wanting  to  the  proper  effect  —  lest',  in  brief,  some  luckless 
excess  or  deficiency  should  certainly-  convey  to  the  guest  the 
secret  of  those  deficiencies,  in  taste,  manners,  experiences,  and 
resources,  which  would,  if  known,  be  fatal  to  the  claims  of  good 
breeding  and  high  ton  which  the  host  is  most  anxious  to  estab 
lish.  Those,  on  the  contrary,  who  feel  assured  on  such  points 
are  apt  to  take  the  events  of  a  dinner-table  coolly  and  with 
comparative  indifference.  A  blunder  or  a  deficiency  of  steward 
or  servant,  occasions  little  or  no  concern  ;  is  never  allowed  to 
disturb  the  equilibrium  of  the  master,  who  takes  for  granted 
that  such  small  matters  will  be  ascribed,  by  every  sensible 
guest,  to  the  right  cause ;  and  for  the  opinion  of  all  other  per 
sons  he  cares  not  a  button. 

The  result  of  this  equanimity  is  to  enable  him  to  keep  his 
mind  "  in  hand"  for  the  entertainment  of  his  company.  He  is 
able  to  observe  and  to  minister  with  promptness  and  full  re 
source,  as  his  wits  are  not  disordered  by  any  feverish  workings 
of  his  amour  prapre.  He  sees  what  is  wanting  at  a  glance ; 
supplies  the  deficiency  with  a  nod;  his  servants  are  duly  taught 
in  the  value  of  his  nod  and  glance ;  and  the  skill  of  the  host, 
by  which  the  guests  are  diverted,  enables  Jack  and  Gill  to  wipe 
up  the  water  which  they  have  spilt  so  awkwardly,  in  their 
uphill  progress,  without  attracting  any  notice  —  without  filling 
the  scene  with  most  admired  disorder. 

Our  host  knows  his  company,  and  conjures  up  the  special 
tcpic  which  appeals  directly  to  the  tastes  or  the  fancies  of  each 


540  THE   FORAYERS. 

He  is  vigilant  even  while  lie  seems  most  at  ease ;  when  his  in 
difference  is  most  apparent,  it  is  made  to  cover  a  becoming 
solicitude  for  the  comfort  of  the  humblest  person  present.  He 
provides  himself  with  the  proper  cue  to  all  your  prejudices  and 
affections,  as  by  a  divine  instinct,  so  that  he  steers  clear  of  the 
one,  and  shapes  his  course  directly  for  the  other;  and  when  the 
waters  are  unluckily  ruffled,  by  some  bull-headed  companion, 
who  treads  on  his  neighbor's  toes  without  even  suspecting  that 
lie  has  corns,  our  host  is  at  hand  to  pour  oil  upon  the  troubled 
waters,  and  soothe  to  calm  the  temper  which  is  ruffled.  He 
contrives,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  offender  shall  be  taught  the 
nature  of  his  offence,  without  being  brought  up  to  the  halberds 
and  set  in  pillory, 

"  Pour  les'  encourager  les  autres" 

There  was  nothing  doubtful  about  the  aplomb  of  Captain 
Porgy.  Having  prepared  his  feast  according  to  the  full  extent 
of  his  resources;  drilled  his  awkward  squad  to  the  utmost  of  his 
capacity  and  their  susceptibilities;  seen  that  they  were  in  suf 
ficient  numbers  for  proper  attendance;  and  made,  in  brief,  all 
his  preparations,  he  gave  himself  no  further  concern,  but  pro- 
pared  to  receive  his  guests,  with  the  e:u>y  good  nature,  the 
frank  politeness,  the  smiling  grace,  of  an  old-school  gentleman. 
And  it  is  quite  an  error  to  talk,  as  we  are  apt  to  do,  of  the  for 
mality  of  the  old-school  gentleman.  The  gentleman  of  two 
hundred  or  one  hundred  years  ago,  differed  very  slightly  in  his 
bearing  from  the  same  class  at  the  present  day.  In  due  degree 
as  his  ceremonials  ran  into  formalities,  did  he  lose  the  character 
of  the  gentleman.  In  no  period  was  mere  form  and  buckram 
ever  confounded,  by  sensible  people,  with  politeness  an*!  re 
finement. 

Never  was  gentleman  more  perfectly  at  ease  in  crowded  as 
sembly,  yet  more  solicitous  of  the  claims  of  all  about  him,  than 
our  corpulent  captain.  His  shrewd  good  sense,  nice  tastes, 
playful  humors,  and  frank  spirit,  all  harmonizing  happily,  en 
abled  him  to  play  the  host  generally  to  the  equal  satisfaction  of 
all  his  company.  He  had  the  proper* welcome  for  each  as  he 
drew  nigh ;  the  proper  word,  which  set  each  person  at  his  ease, 
and  prepared  him  for  the  development  of  all  his  conversational 
resources. 


HOW   PORGY    FEASTED    THE    CAPTAINS.  641 

Among  the  first  of  his  guests  to  appear  were  Governor 
Rutledge  and  General  Greene.  "  The  really  great,"  said  Porgy 
to  Lance  Frampton  who  stood  behind  him,  "  never  keep  the 
table  waiting." 

The  approach  to  the  scene  was  through  a  great  natural  avenue 
of  lofty  green  pines,  through  which  the  moon  was  peeping  curi 
ously  with  a  bright  smile,  a  disinterested  spectator  of  the  pro 
ceedings.  Music  timed  the  approaches  of  the  guests,  the  army 
band  having  been  secured  for  the  evening.  Porgy  welcomed 
his  guests  at  the  entrance  of  the  area  in  which  his  tables  had 
been  spread. 

"  General  Greene,  Captain  Porgy,"  said  Rutledge.  Greene 
took  the  outstretched  hand  of  the  host,  saying  : — 

"  What  I  have  heard  of  you,  Captain  Porgy,  makes  me  tres 
pass  without  fear  of  the  consequences." 

"  And  what  I  know  of  General  Greene  enables  me  to  welcome 
him  with  every  hope  of  the  consequences.  I  am  very  grateful 
to  Governor  Rutledge  for  doing  that  which,  as  a  poor  captain 
of  militia,  I  should  scarcely  have  ventured  to  do  myself." 

"  I  knew  my  customers  both,  my  dear  captain,"  said  Rut- 
ledge,  "  and  knew  how  little  was  necessary  to  render  the  regular 
and  volunteer  service  grateful  to  each  other." 

"  Be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  Porgy,  "  while  I  put  myself  on 
duty  for  a  while ;"  and  he  resumed  his  place  at  the  opening  of 
the  avenue,  while  Suinter,  Marion,  and  the  rest  severally  pre 
sented  themselves,  were  welcomed  and  conducted  to  the  interior 
by  young  Frampton,  who  did  the  duties  of  an  aid.  Colonel 
Lee  was  among  the  latest  to  appear. 

"  My  dear  Porgy,"  said  he  condescendingly  —  "I  am  late; 
but  the  cavalry  of  the  legion  is  on  vigilant  duty  to-night,  and 
a  good  officer  you  know  —  eh  !" 

And  he  left  it  to  our  host  to  conceive  the  rest. 

"  Col.  Lee  may  be  forgiven,  if  late  among  his  friends,  when  we 
know  that  his  enemies  rarely  reproach  him  for  a  like  remissness." 

The  grace  of  Porgy's  manner  happily  blended  with  the  grave 
dignity  of  his  address.  Lee  smiled  at  the  compliment: — 

"Always  ready,  Porgy  —  never  to  be  outdone  in  the  play  of 
compliment,  or  the  retort  courteous ;"  and  while  speaking  he 
was  ushered  in  with  other  visitors. 


THE   FOUAYKUS. 


The  company  was  at  length  assembled.  The  music  ceased. 
A  single  bugle  sounded  from  the  amphitheatre,  and  the  guests 
disposed  themselves  without  confusion  under  the  whispered 
suggestions  of  Lieutenant  Frampton.  Porgy  took  his  place  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  standing,  till  all  were  seated. 

':  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "be  pleased  to  find  places  at  the 
board.  Colonel  Singleton,  you  are  my  vis-a-vis.  Governor 
Rutledge  will  you  honor  me  by  sitting  at  my  right.  General 
Greene,  1  have  presumed  to  assign  you  the  seat  at  my  left." 

Right  and  left  of  Singleton,  Marion  and  Sumter  were  placed. 
At  one  end  of  the  table  crossing  the  centre  of  the  board,  Colonel 
Lee  was  seated,  Colonel  Maham  occupied  the  other.  Carrington, 
Horry,  Mellichampe,  St.  Julien,  and  others  found  places  be 
tween  these  several  termini.  Scarcely  had  they  been  seated 
when  four  great  calabash  tureens  were  placed  severally  at  the 
extremities,  the  odorous  vapors  from  which  appealed  gratefully 
to  every  nostril  in  company. 

"  Turtle  soup  !"  was  the  delighted  murmur. 
"  And  lemons  !" 

And  as  the  smoking  vessels  were  set  before  the  governor  and 
General  Greene,  the  former  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Faith,  Captain  Porgy,  your  last  voyage  to  the  West  Indies 
seems  to  have  been  a  highly  prosperous  adventure." 

"  In  truth,"  said  Greene,  "  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  that 
there  must  have  been  some  such  enterprise,  of  which  General 
'Marion  has  forgotten  to  apprize  me." 

"  I  begin  seriously  to  suspect  him,"  said  Rutledge.  "  The 
fact  is  that  General  Marion  is  so  fond  of  secret  enterprises,  and 
audacious  ones  —  does  things  with  so  much  despatch,  and  thinks 
it  so  easy  to  do  the  impossible,  that  I  half  balieve  he  has  made 
a  three  nights'  run  for  the  Havana,  or  sent  off  a  favorite  squad 
on  a  sortie  in  that  direction.  Say,  general,  is  it  not  so  ?  Let  us 
know  the  truth  of  it.  You  found,  among  your  captures  at 
Georgetown,  some  ready-rigged  sloop  or  schooner,  and  sent  her 
out  on  a  cruise  in  anticipation  of  this  very  occasion." 

"  Nay,  governor,  the  merits  of  the  enterprise,  such  as  it  was 
and  the  fruits  thereof,  are  due  entirely  to  our  host  It  was  hit 
adventure  wholly,  though  we  share  the  spoils." 

"But,  where  —  where  —  where  —  "  began  Peter  Horry,  stut. 


HOW    PORGY    FEASTED    THE    CAPTAINS.  5lo 

tering,  "  wlicre  tlic  devil  did  lie  — did  lie  — get  'em  — turtles  and 
lemons!     T  don't  —  don't  —  understand  it  —  at  all." 

"  Better  not  press  the  inquiry,  Horry,"  said  Singleton  with  a 
sly  smile  upon  the  company  — "  the  discovery  will  hardly  add 
to  your  own  laurels." 

"How  —  my  laurels!  What  —  what — I  want  to — to  know 
have  my  laurels — to  do  — to  do  —  with  the  matter?" 

"Let's  have  it,  Colonel  Singleton,"  said  Rutledge  eagerly. 
"  Out  with  the  story.  Colonel  Horry  is  so  seldom  to  be  caught 
napping  that  I  sli*1!  rejoice  to  have  one  story  at  his  expense." 

"  Ay,  ay,  the  story,  Singleton,"  from  a  dozen  voices  around 
the  board. 

«Tell  —  tell— tell,  if  you  will,"  stuttered  Horry — "only  be 
sure,  and  tell  — the  —  the  truth,  and  shame  —  you  know  — 
who." 

"  The  adventure  illustrates  the  military  character  of  the  two 
gentlemen  most  admirably,"  said  Singleton.  "  Colonel  Horry 
is  a  gentleman  of  large  eyes  and  grapples  with  objects  of  mag 
nitude  always.  It  is  Captain  Porgy's  pleasure  to  be  discrimina 
ting  and  select.  The  lemons  and  a  variety  of  other  edibles  are 
furnished,  unwillingly,  I  grant  you,  by  Lord  Rawdon  himself. 
They  form  a  part  of  the  supplies  brought  up  by  Colonel  Stewart. 
In  dashing  at  Stewart's  convoy,  Horry  passed  a  mean  little 
wagon  in  the  rear,  as  quite  unworthy  his  regards.  He  swept 
off  as  you  know  three  or  four  others  of  considerable  value  to 
the  army.  But  the  very  littleness  of  this  wagon  which  Horry 
had  despised,  fixed  the  regards  of  our  host.  He  quietly  pos 
sessed  himself  of  it,  and  was  rewarded  with  the  private  stores 
designed  for  Lord  Rawdon  himself."  The  story  produced  a 
laugh  at  the  expense  of  Horry. 

"  Who — who  —  who  —  the  devil,"  said  he,  would  have  thought 
—  of — of — anything  good  in  —  that  rickety  concern  ?  I'd  like 
to  know,  Captain  Porgy,  what  you  got  besides  the  lemons  ?" 

"Whitv.  sugars,  coffee,  tea,  spices,  Spanish  sweetmeats,  pre 
served  ginger,  three  kegs  of  Jamaica,  and  a  goodly  variety 
besides !" 

"  The  d — 1 !  —  and  —  and  —  I  to  miss  'em  all." 
*•'  But  you  got  loads  of  bacon  and  flour,  Horry." 
'  Several  bales  of  blankets/' 

J 


644 


THE    FORAYERS. 


"  Ay,  and  a  bathing-tub  and  complete  set  of  chamber  crock 
ery !" 

"  What,"  said  Rutledge,  "  was  there  a  bathing-tub  and  cham 
ber  crockery  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  Who  could  have  wanted  that,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  Some  young  ensign  of  the  buffs  or  blues,"  said  Pcrgy; 
"  whose  mother  was  duly  considerate  of  the  young  man's  skin 
in  a  warm  climate.  You  should  have  discovered  Colonel  Kerry's 
visage  when  that  wagon  was  burst  open  and  the  contents  re 
vealed.  The  bathing-tub  and  furniture  filled  the  wagon." 

"  What  did  he  say,  Porgy  ?     Tell  us  that !" 

"Say!  Ah!  What  was  it,  colonel?  Deliver  it  yourself: 
nobody  can  repeat  it  half  so  well." 

"  He  —  re  —  repeat  it  yourself,  if  you  can  !"  said  Horry  stut 
tering  and  dipping  up  his  soup  with  increased  rapidity. 

"  Out  with  it,  Captain  Porgy.     Horry's  speech.  " 

Porgy  nodded  to  Singleton,  who  answered:  — 

"  I  heard  it,  and  as  Horry  permits  will  deliver  it.     He  said, 

stamping  his  feet  in  a  rage :  '  Throw  out  the  d d  basins,  and 

break  up  the  blasted  tub.  Who  would  have  thought  of  any 
fellow  being  such  a  bloody  booby  as  to  bring  a  bathing-tub  and 
chamber  crockery  into  a  pond  and  bush  country  V  " 

And  slightly  imitating  the  stammer  of  Horry  so  as  to  give  a 
lively  idea  of  his  manner,  Singleton  set  the  table  in  a  roar 
When  the  laugh  had  subsided  :  — 

"But  did  he  break  up  the  crockery,  Porgy?" 

"  Every  bowl  and  basin.  He  was  merciless.  You  never 
saw  such  havoc.  His  broadsword  played  elephant  in  the  crock 
ery  shop  to  perfection,  and  the  dragoons,  delighted  with  the 
humors  of  their  colonel,  went  into  the  work  of  demolition  with  a 
rush." 

"I    had  —  no  —  no  —  no    use    for    the    d d  —  d d  — 

d d    things,"  said   Horry;     "and  I  was  —  de  —  de  —  de  — 

termined  to  give  the  d d  puppy  that  owned  them  a  lesson. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  But  where  did  the  turtles  come  from  ?" 

"  From  the  genius  of  my  cook,  Tom,"  said  Porgy.  '  The 
turtle  are  terrapin  from  the  Caw-caw." 


HOW  PORGY  FEASTED  THE  CAPTAINS.  545 

Not  the  alligator  terrapin,  captain,  I  hope,"  said  Sumter. 
"•'I  could  never  bring  myself  to  eat  any  of  that  order." 

I"  You  have  done  it  on  this  occasion,"  said  Porgy. 
"And  very  effectually  too,  general,"  said  Singleton,  "  since 
I  have  helped  you  to  a  second  supply,  and  you  seem  in  a  fair 
way  to  need  a  third." 

Sumter  looked  a  little  blank. 

"  Do  not  be  discomfited,  general,"  said  Porgy,  "  since  I  took 
rl.c  precaution  to  have  all  their  tails  cut  off  before  they  were 
hashed  up  for  the  soup." 

".But  what  did  you  do  with  the  tails?" 

"  Ah !  they  were  made  into  balls,  with  a  due  proportion  of 
beef  and  bacon." 

"  You  have  caught  me  beyond  escape,  captain,  since  I  confess 
to  have  done  as  much  execution  on  the  balls  as  on  the  soup." 

"And  you   are  surprised  into  a  wisdom,  general,  that  has 
cured  you  of  the  prejudices  of  twenty  years !     What  we  call 
the  alligator  terrapin  is  the  best'of  the  tribe  —  the  fattest,  rich 
est,  best  flavored.     It  requires  only  that  skill  in  the  dressing 
-    which  my  man  Tom  supplies." 

The  bugle  sounded.  Sergeant  Millhouse  marshalled  the  wait 
ers  to  their  stations,  and  the  emptied  vessels  were  removed. 
With  another  blast  of  the  bugle,  new  dishes  were  set  on  the 

table. 

"A  noble-looking  fish,"  said  Greene.      "What  fish  is  this, 

Captain  Porgy  ?" 

"  The  greatest  delicacy  of  a  fresh-water  river,  this  is  the 
Kdisto  blue  cat  —  for  very  nice  people  a  most  discouraging 
iKivnc.  —  Gentlemen,  look  to  yourselves.  Here  is  boiled  fish, 
.Mich  as  George  the  Third  can  not  procure ;  dressed  in  a  style 
which  would  not  discredit  the  table  of  our  great  ally,  the  king 
of  France.  Men  of  gout  will  of  course  prefer  the  boiled  —  for 
the  undeveloped  taste,  the  fry  is  abundant.  There  are  perch 
and  trout  in  those  several  dishes.  Tney  are  all  fresh  from  the 
Edisto  within  five  hours." 

"  Your  troopers  have  been  busy,  captain." 

"Ay,  sir,  and  my  cook.  He  was  fortunate  in  his  search 
along  the  river  this  morning,  to  come  upon  three  or  four  fish 
traps;  which  he  emptied  without  leave.  Governor,  the  melted 


540  THE    FORAYERS. 

butter  is  beside  you.  By-the-way,  thos.  naval  biscuit  are  also 
from  tlie  stores  0.1  y  Lord  Bawdon.  —  General,  do  not  dream 
of  defiling  that/^h  with  vinegar.  It  is  an  abomination  in  this 
case..  The  fish  only  entreats  the  butter,  and  the  dressing  is 
complete." 

The  eye  of  Porgy  swept  the  table.  The  guests  discussed 
the  fish  with  the  relish  of  starving  men.  There  was  a  cessation. 
The  finger  of  Porgy  was  lifted.  Millhouse's  bugle  gave  tongue, 
and  the  fish  was  superseded  with  a  variety  of  dishes. 

"General  Greene  —  Governor  Rutledge  —  suffer  me  to  per 
suade  you  both  to  the  ragout  which  is  before  me." 

"  What  is  it,  captain  ?" 

"  Try  it,  general.  It  is  the  alerta  —  the  green  alerta — a  sort 
of  chicken  you  will  find  it,  but  far  superior.  The  stew  is  of 
the  lagarta,  according  to  the  Spaniards,  and  a  dish  quite  a 
rare  as  exquisite  on  table.  Gentlemen,  interspersed  with  these 
dishes  you  will  find  more  familiar,  but  inferior  ones.  There 
are  hams  and  tongues,  both  from  the  stores  of  Lord  Bawdon, 
and,  in  fact,  most  of  this  course  will  be  found  of  foreign  charac 
ter.  You  will  please  ask  me  for  no  more  revelations  touching 
my  mode  of  procuring  supplies,  as  I  have  no  wish  to  expose  the 
breaking  of  any  more  crockery.  It  is  not  every  one  of  our  par 
tisans  who  can  bear,  with  so  much  equanimity  as  Colonel 
Horry,  the  story  of  his  own  acquisitions,  and  how  made." 

"  This  —  what  do  you  call  it  ?"  said  Greene. 

"Alerta!" 

"  Is  delicious !" 

"  And  nothing  could  be  more  savory  than  this  stew,  Captain 
Porgy." 

"Yes,  indeed,  governor — the  Spaniards  have  the  merit  of 
the  discovery.  But  gentlemen,  with  this  course,  it  is  time  to 
spiritualize  the  feast." 

The  speaker's  finger  was  uplifted,  and  two  enormous  bowls  of 
punch  were  set  down  at  the  two  ends  of  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,  we  owe  a  great  deal  to  the  providence  of  Lord 
Bawdon." 

"  And  the  improvidence  of  Horry,"  whispered  Butledge,  "  for, 
of  a  verity,  had  he  captured  these  spoils,  he  would  never  have 
made  the  same  use  of  them  as  our  host  has  done." 


HOW   POR^Y    FEASTED   THE   CAPTAINS.  547 

"Sir,"  said  Porgy  with  solemnity  "bo  would  have  wasted 
them  — naked,  upon  his  dragoons.—  U*  ;k-men,  you  will  please 
fill  for  a  sentiment.  Colonel  Singleton  hee  that  your  end  of  the 
table  charges  duly." 

"  We  are  ready,  captain." 
Porgy  rising :  — 

"Gentlemen,   our   first   regular   sentiment:    'The  cause   of 
Liberty  —  the  cause  of  the  American  continent  —  the  cause  of 
all  continents  wherever  man  has  a  living  soul !'  " 
"  Music."     And  the  bands  struck  up. 

"  Captain  Porgy,"  said  Lee,  "  send  me,  if  you  please,  a  second 
supply  of  that  dish  which  you  call  the  alerta.  I  don't  know 
what  sort  of  bird  it  is,  but  the  savor  is  that  of  young  pigeons. 
It  is  wonderfully  nice." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Lee,"  said  Colonel  Williams,  "  though  I 
have  no  more  idea  what  the  bird  is  than  of  the  mansions  of  the 
moon.  Let  me  trouble  you  also,  Captain  Porgy." 

[  must  also  trespass,  captain,"  said  Carrington.  "  Ordi 
narily,  I  seldom  suffer  myself  to  eat  of  dishes  of  which  I  know 
nothing ;  but  these  foreign  meats  come  to  us  under  good  guar 
anties,  though  half  the  time  without  a  name  at  all." 

^  Unless  French,  which  is  so  much  Greek  to,  me,"  said  Maham. 
"  Captain,  that  lagarla  stew  is  princely." 

'  No  crowned  head  in  Europe  enjoys  the  like.  Shall  I  help 
you,  Colonel  Maham  ?" 

Thank  you,  yes.     But  I  thought  you  called  it  foreign." 
:So  it  is-— in  one  sense;   but  this  is  not  imported.     It  is 
wholly  domestic." 

"  Well,  foreign  or  domestic,  it  is  first  rate,"  said  Greene.  "  I 
will  try  a  little  more  of  it,  Captain  Porgy." 

"Ah!  general,"  -with  a  smile  — «  suffer  me  to  say  that  it 
is  only  in  the  militia  service,  after  all,  that  the  taste  properly 
refines.  Governor,  shall  I  serve  you  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  mince  a  little  of  your  lagarta,  captain," 
and  a  sly  glance  of  Rutledge  apprized  the  captain  of  his  sus 
picions.  But  the  face  of  Porgy  made  no  revelations. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Singleton,  at  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
""  fill  your  glasses.'.' 

"  Beady,  all,"  said  Porgy. 


548  THE  FORAYERS. 

Singleton  rose,  and  gave  :— * 

"  South  Carolina — almost  freed  from  the  footstep  of  the  for 
eign  tyrant,  and  rising  to  the  full  assertion  of  her  own  sover 
eignty  !" 

A  brilliant  hurst  from  John  Rutledge,  brief,  but  like  a  fiery 
tongue  speaking  to  the  soul,  followed  this  sentiment ;  and  .the 
music  rose  into  a  triumphant  peal  as  his  voice  died  away  upon 
the  echoes.  Other  sentiments  succeeded  other  speeches ;  Hut- 
ledge,  Greene,  Marion,  Sumter,  Lee,  were  all  duly  honored  with 
toasts,  and  all  responded, .each  after  his  own  fashion,  all  unaffect 
edly,  simply,  and  with  the  proper  earnestness  of  soldiers.  And 
the  punch  flowed  anew  into  fresh  goblets,  and  the  merriment 
grew  high,  and  some  of  the  grave  barons  began  to  sing  in 
snatches,  and  the  volunteer  toasts  filled  up  the  pauses  in  the 
conversation.  Meanwhile,  a  score  of  melons  were  placed  upon 
the  board,  and  the  preserved  fruits  from  the  West  Indies, 
guava  and  ginger,  were  crowded  upon  the  board,  and  pro 
voked  new  merriment  at  the  expense  of  Rawdon,  who  lost,  and 
Horry  who  refused  to  find  the  prize. 

And  while  they  gashed  deeply  the  purple  centres  of  the 
melons,  Rutledge  suddenly  said  to  Porgy : — 

"And  now,  captain,  that  you  have  had  your  triumph,  that 
all  present  have  borne  testimony  in  the  least  equivocal  inanuei 
to  the  merits  of  your  feast,  I  would  fain  know  of  what  those  for 
eign  dishes  were  compounded,  of  which,  knowing  nothing,  all 
have  partaken  so  freely.  Hams  and  tongues,  fresh  from  Brit 
ain,  designed  for  my  Lord  Rawdoivs  own  table,  have  been  sent 
away  from  yours  uncut  —  proof  of  homage,  the  most  profound, 
to  yet  preferable  meats.  Pray  tell  us,  then,  what  were  the  ele 
ments  of  your  lagarta  and  your  alerta —  your  ragouts  and 
stews." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  seconded  the  company,  "  let  us  know.  What 
were  the  birds  1" 

"I  should  really  be  pleased  to  know,  Captain  Porgy,"  said 
General  Greene,  bowing,  "  touching  those  birds." 

"  There  need  be  no  mystery  in  it  now,  general,  since,  as 
Governor  Rutledge  says,  the  feast  has  triumphed.  But  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  too  greatly  confound  you,  when  I  state  that  the 
dishes  contained  no  birds  at  all.  The  stew  of  alerta  was  com 


HOW  PORGY  FEASTED  THE  CAPTAINS.       549 

pounded  chiefly  of  the  race  which  helped  Homer  in  the  con 
struction  of  an  epic  —  a  race  which  Milton  describes  as  the  — 

"'Small  infantry 
Warred  on  by  cranes.' " 

"  You  surely  do  not  mean  frogs,  Captain  Porgy  ?"  cried  Lee, 
with  affected  horror  in  his  accents. 

"  Your  guess  is  a  sagacious  one,  and  worthy  of  the  legion, 
Colonel  Lee." 

"  Good  heavens !  and  is  it  come  to  this,  that  the  soldiers  of 
liberty  should  be  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  frog-eating  V 

"Necessity,  Colonel  Lee!"  exclaimed  Rutledge.  "By 
heavens,  sir,  it  should  be  matter  of  taste  and  preference,  sir, 
if  only  in  due  deference  to  our  great  Gallic  ally ;  but,  of  a 
truth,  sir,  after  to-day's  feast,  it  should  be  a  new  argument  in 
behalf  of  liberty,  that  she  has  brought  us  to  such  rare  fine  feed 
ing  and  .such  improved  tastes." 

"And  the  other  dish,  Captain  Porgy,"  demanded  Sumter, 
"  the  stew  with  the  Spanish  name  ?" 

"The  name  speaks  for  itself — lagarta.  It  is  of  the  great 
lizard  family  —  the  cayman  —  in  vulgar  speech,  the  alligator. 
But  the  specimens  employed,  gentlemen,  were  mere  juveniles ; 
young  vagabonds,  whose  affectionate  parents  had  hardly  suffered 
them  out  of  sight  before.  They  had  probably  never  fed  on 
larger  prey  than  their  neighbors  of  the  alerta  family." 

"  One  question,  Captain  Porgy,"  said  Carrington ;  "  be  so 
good  as  to  inform  me,  if,  among  your  several  unfamiliar  dishes, 
I  have  had  the  happiness  to  eat  of  the  rattlesnake,  the  viper, 
the  moccasin,  or  the  boa-constrictor  ?" 

"  Alas  !  colonel,  I  grieve  to  say  that  you  have  not.  I  should 
have  been  pleased  to  have  got  a  couple  of  young  chicken-snakes, 
but  I  was  not  fortunate  in  the  search.  We  got  glimpse  of  a  few 
runners  [black-snakes],  but  they  were  quite  too  swift  of  foot  for 
the  hunters.  The  chicken-snake  is  of  unexceptionable  tender 
ness  ;  the  runner  is  a  little  too  muscular,  if  not  previously  well 
sodden ;  but,  unless  near  a  hencoop,  or  a  ecrncrib,  it  is  not  easy 
to  find  the  chicken-snake.  1  repeat  my  regrets  that  I  could  not 
secure  this  delicacy  for  my  table.  But  another  time,  Colonel 
Carrington,  should  you  sup  with  me,  I  will  make  a  special 
effort  in  your  behalf." 


550  THE    FORAYERS. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir  ;  do  not  suffer  your  regrets  to  disturb  you. 
For  that  matter,  I  am  half  doubtful  whether  your  alerta  and 
lagarta,  of  which  I  have,  in  my  ignorance,  partaken  somewhat, 
too  freely,  will  continue  to  lie  lightly  on  my  soul  or  stomach." 

"  Have  no  fears,  sir ;  and  the  better  to  secure  their  repose, 
do  me  the  honor,  sir,  of  a  bowl  of  punch  with  me.  Gentlemen, 
I  entreat  the  whole  table  to  our  companionship." 
And  the  vessels  were  filled  and  emptied. 
"And  now,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  host,  I  give  you — 
'  The  poets,  who  minister  at  once  to  Apollo,  to  Bacchus,  and  to 
Mars,  and  beg  to  introduce  you  to  the  only  representative  of 
the  faculty  in  our  squadron,  Mr.  George  Dennison,  my  ensign. 
If  I  mistake  not,  he  has  been  this  day  as  busy  with  the  muse, 
as  I  with  my  cook  ;  and,  if  we  will  suffer  him,  he  will  bring  us 
gifts  from  Parnassus  not  unworthy  of  those  which  we  have  en 
joyed  from  the  provision- wagon  of  Lord  Rawdon." 

"  In  which  Horry,  going  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  could  see 
nothing." 

"  Having  a  taste  for  baths,  warming-pans,  and  chamber-furni 
ture." 

"'Nough  of  that  — that  — Singleton!     I  — I  — I'm  a  sinner 
be —  be — beyond  salvation,  if  I  ever  pass  a  little  mean-looking 
wagon  again,  without  seeing  what's  in  it." 
"But — Mr.  Dennison,"  said  Rutledge. 

"George!  Geordic !"  said  Porgy,  good-humoredly.  The 
poet,  hitherto  the  only  silent  person  at  table,  now  rose  —  a  tall, 
slender  person,  of  bright,  lively  eye,  mouth  full  of  expression. 
Grecian  nose,  and  great  forehead  rising  up  like  a  tower.  His 
cheeks  were  flushed,  his  frame  trembled,  and  there  was  an  evi 
dent  quivering  of  the  lip  which  was  discernible  to  every  eye 
about  him.  Dennison  sang  the  verses,  which  he  wrote,  in  a 
clear,  military  voice,  shrill  like  a  clarion.  There  was,  perhaps, 
no  great  deal  of  music  in  his  composition,  but  enough  for  the 
present  purpose,  and  of  the  kind  best  suited,  perhaps,  for  a 
military  gathering  — bold,  free,  eager  and  full  of  animation. 
His  ballad  had  been  the  work  of  that  very  afternoon. 

He  had  no  prefaces.  But,  waiting  till  the  music  hushed,  and 
the  voices,  he  then  began : — 


HOW    TOIIGY    FEASTED    THE    OBTAINS 


THE    BATTLE    FEAST. 

To  the  dark  and  bloody  feast, 

Haste  ye  battle  vultures,  haste ; 
There  is  banquet,  man  and  beast, 

For  your  savage  taste : 
Never  on  such  costly  wassail 

Did  ye  flesh  your  beaks  before ; 
Come,  ye  slaves  of  Hesse  Cassel,* 

To  be  sold  no  morel 

Small  your  cost  to  George  of  Britain, 

One  and  sixpence  sterling  down  -f 
Yet  for  this,  ye  sorry  chapmen, 

Each  will  lose  his  crown ; 
Freedom  knows  no  price  for  valor, 

Yours  is  measured  by  the  groat, 
Britain  pays  in  gold  and  silver, 

We  in  steel  and  shot 

Recreants,  ye  from  Scottish  Highlands,! 

Lately  rebels  to  the  throne 
Of  that  brutal  foreign  despot, 

Now,  whose  sway  ye  own ; 
Ye  are  welcome  to  the  banquet, 

Which  is  spread  for  all  who  come, 
Where  the  eater  is  the  eaten, 

And  the  deathsman  goes  to  doom. 

And  ye  braggart  sons  of  Erin, 

Loathing  still  the  sway  ye  bear, 
Groaning  in  the  very  fetters, 

Ye  would  make  us  wear; 
Ever  writhing,  ever  raging, 

'Neath  the  bonds  ye  can  not  break  — 
Here  the  bloody  banquet  woos  ye, 

Gather  and  partake  1 

•  The  Hessians,  hired  at  so  much  per  head  to  the  crown  of  Britain  for  the  war  in  Amer 
lea,  formed  no  smnll  portion  of  the  British  army 

t  We  are  not  sure  that  Master  George  Dennison  is  altogether  right  in  this  statement  of 
Wrtwy8  'SSmn8  P°r  '  bUt  thC  difference  is  '"material,  whether  in  poetry  or 

J  The  exiled  rebels  of  '45,  when  settled  in  America,  almost  wholly  proved  adherents  of 
that  monarch  whom  as  followers  of  the  Stuart,,  they  opposed  to  the  kaife.  The  disaster 
hem  of  all  propensity  to  rebcllmn.  Even  the  Macdonnlds,  the  famous  Hector 

~ a11  became  loyal  to  George  the  Third 


THE   FORAYERS. 

Stoop,  ye  vulture'?,  to  the  issue, 

It  will  be  ere  set  of  sun ! 
Mark  whose  valor  bides  the  longest, 

Blood  of  price  or  blood  of  none. 
Comes  the  Tartan  of  Gleuorchy, 

Comes  the  sullen  Saxon  boor, 
Comes  the  light-heeled  German  yager 

Crowding  to  the  shore ! 

Who  shall  meet  them  by  the  water 

On  the  mountain,  in  the  vale, 
Meet  them  with  the  stroke  of  slaughter 

Till  the  right  arm  fail  1 
Wherefore  ask?     Yon  pealing  summon* 

Finds  fit  answer,  sharp  and  soon, 
Answer  fit  for  peers  and  commons, 

Yager  and  dragooi.. 

Lo !  the  soul  that  makes  a  nation, 

Which,  from  out  the  ranks  of  toil, 
•     Upward  springs  in  day  of  peril, 

Soul  to  save  the  soil! 
Comes  a  high  and  mighty  aspect, 

From  the  shores  of  Powhatan; — 
Lo!  in  him  the  nation's  hero, 

Glorious  perfect  man  !* 

Follows,  rugged  as  his  mountains, 

Daring  man  from  Bennington;f 
Blacksmith  stout  from  Narraganset,^ 

Good  where  deeds  are  done: 
Comes  the  keen-eyed  Santee  rifle, 

Sleepless  still  and  swift  as  flame, 
Rowel  rashing,§  bullet  wingingj 

Man  of  deadly  aim. 

Stoop,  ye  vultures,  to  the  issue, 

Stoop,  and  scour  the  bloody  plain 
Flesh  your  beaks  where  fat  the  carnage, 

Mountains  up  the  slain  : 
Whose  the  skull  your  talon  rendeth'- 

Eye,  within  your  dripping  beak, 
Speechless  tongue  that  loosely  lolleth 

On  divided  cheek  t 

In  the  tartan  of  Glenorchy, 
Scarlet  of  the  Saxon  boor, 

fVoshiugton.  t  Stark.  J  Greeue.  %  Sumter  0  Mario*. 


HOW   PORGY    FEA8TED    TiJfi    CAPTAINS.  663 

Gray  frock  of  the  Hessian  yager 

Strewn  from  mount  to  shore , 
Read  the  fate  of  hireling  valor, 

Read  the  doom  of  foreign  foe, 
Know  that  he  who  smites  for  freedom, 

Ever  strikes  the  deadly  blow  1 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  compliments  of  the  party  to  the 
poet,  that  Willie  Sinclair  stole  in  to  the  table,  and  plucked  the 
sleeve  of  Marion,  who  rose  quickly  and  quietly,  and  went  out 
with  him  in  silence.  The  company  sat  at  the  table  some  time 
longer. 

"  Why'your  poet  seems  a  genuine  Birserker,  Captain  Porgy. 
This  chant  was  worthy  to  be  sung  in  the  hall  of  Odin.  Does 
he  fight  as  bravely  as  he  sings." 

"  Every  bit,  sir,  and  he  goes  into  battle  with  the  same  con 
vulsive  sort  of  tremor  with  which  he  begins  to  sing  or  to  recite. 
But  that  passes  off  in  a  few  moments,  and  then  he  fairly  rages. 
In  fact,  sir,  it  is  not  easy  for  him  to  arrest  himself,  and  he 
sometimes  shows  himself  rather  too  savage  in  strife  —  with 
rather  too  great  an  appetite  for  blood." 

"  You  are  as  fortunate,  Captain  Porgy,  in  your  poet  as  your 
cook;  I  would  I  could  persuade  them  from  you! — Who? — Do 
you  say  ?" 

These  last  words  were  spoken  to  Lieutenant  Frampton,  who 
had  whispered  something  into  Rutledge's  ear. 

"  Colonel  Sinclair,  your  excellency.  He  waits  you  without, 
along  with  General  Marion." 

"Instantly" — and,  watching  his  opportunity,  while  beakers 
were  filling,  Rutledge  stole  away.  Greene  followed  his  exam 
ple,  so  did  Sumter  and  the  elder  officers ;  the  young  ones  re 
mained,  and  soon  Captain  Porgy,  his  veneration  no  longer 
active,  was  in  full  flight,  keeping  the  table  in  a  roar,  with 
merry  jest,  jibe,  and  story,  till  the  hours  grew  something  smaller 
than  the  stars,  and  the  moon  had  a  hooded,  downcast  looking 

O 

visage,  as  if  she  had  seen  or  heard  something  to  shock  her 
modesty.  Let  us  leave  the  revellers  while  they  make  a  finaj 
onslaught  upon  the  punchbowls. 

?4 


TI1E    F011AYER3. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

iSCENE    CLOSES    IN    CLOUD    AND    MYSTERY 

IT  is  a  necessary  law  of  our  existence  that  we  are  not  al 
lowed  to  have  things  just  as  we  wish  them.  Life  runs  not  more 
smoothly  than  love.  The  course  of  both  is  broken  with  fre 
quent  impediments,  if  only  in  order  that  the  stream  should 
possess  a  due  degree  of  vitality  for  its  own  strength  and  puri 
fication.  We  are  not  allowed  to  feel  secure,  at  any  moment, 
in  our  possession,  or  in  the  full  realization  of  our  favorite  pur 
poses.  Use  all  precautions,  exercise  all  our  vigilance,  assert 
duly  all  our  resources  of  thought  and  genius,  and  still  we  find 
ourselves  thwarted  by  impediments  which  we  are  rarely  able 
to  foresee,  and  not  often  able  to  contend  with. 

Willie  Sinclair  had  proved  himself  as  circumspect,  vigilant 
and  industrious  as  brave.  H*e  had  cheerfully  gone  to  his  tasks 
and  these  were  as  various  as  exacting.  He  had  calmly  under 
taken  the  most  perilous  situations,  and  had  encountered  their 
difficulties  and  dangers  with  an  ability  which  had  resulted,  thus 
far,  in  the  most  perfect  success,  in  all  those  respects  which  con 
cerned  the  interests  of  the  army  and  the  country.  He  had 
won  the  admiration  even  of  SUC-M  admirable  judges  arid  per 
"ormers  as  Rutledge  and  Marion.  But  in  his  personal  fortunes 
—  in  respect  to  those  interests  which  concerned  his  individual 
sympathies  and  affections  —  everything  had  gone  wrpng.  He 
had  offended  his  father  by  his  patriotism  —  had  still  further 
offended  him,  by  suffering  his  heart  to  go  astray  into  pastures 
which  were  forbidden  — and  now  the  added  mortification  of 
seeing  the  object  of  his  affections,  and  all  her  family,  involved 
in  dangers,  including  sundry  forms  of  peril,  while  in  his  keep 
ing  partially,  and  mostly  because  of  their  connection  with 
himself; — in  this  1'^  the  chief  sting  of  his  present  suffering. 


SCENE   CLOSES   IN    CLOUD    AND    MYSTERY.  555 

He  had  failed  utterly  in  Ins  search  after  Bertha  m  <>  her 
mother.  They  had  left  no  traces  which  he  could  light  upon. 
Such  as  he  had  followed,  had  only  deluded  him  from  the  right 
path  ;  and  he  returned  to  camp  in  despair.  He  had  lost  every 
clue  to  the  pursuit.  For  the  moment,  he  appeared  unmanned ; 
and  when  he  had  reported  the  results  of  his  expedition  to 
Marion,  it  required  all  the  ingenuity  of  the  famous  partisan  to 
inspirit  him.  Not  that  he  was  disposed  to  forego  future  exer 
tion  in  the  pursuit  of  his  object.  That  was  the  one  purpose 
which  he  had  in  contemplation ;  and  when  he  summoned  his 
general  out  to  a  conference,  it  was  with  the  view  to  obtaining 
the  desired  permission  to  continue  his  search  after  the  family 
of  Travis,  without  regard  to  the  action  of  the  army. 

Marion  fully  sympathized  with  the  natural  grief 'and  appre 
hension  of  our  hero.  He  knew,  just  as  well  as  anybody  else, 
what  should  be  the  apprehensions  felt  for  the  safety  of  Mrs. 
Travis  and  her  daughter  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  father  and  sor, 
He  knew  the  wild  outlawry  ranging  through  the  country ;  the 
reckless  brutality  of  the  refugees  on  both  sides;  the  cold  and 
savage  nature  of  Inglehardt ;  the  dangers  which  threatened 
male  and  female  equally  of  the  scattered  family.  But  he  had 
his  consolations.  He  gave  Sinclair  a  full  report  of  the  resolves 
made  in  council,  and  mentioned  the  fact  that,  with  Greene's 
permission,  Rutledge  had  reserved  himself  (Sinclair)  with  the 
corps  of  St.  Julien,  for  special  duties,  which  he  had  yet  kept 
private. 

"  I  have  no  question,  major,  that  the  governor  has  done  so  in 
order  to  give  you  carte  blanche,  with  special  referei^e  to  the 
Travis  family.  But  here  he  comes." 

Rutledge  appeared  at  the  remark,  and  shook  Sinclair's  hand 
with  affectionate  sympathy. 

"  Come  further  this  way  general,"  said  he.    And  they  retired 
to  a  fallen  tree  on  the  edge  of  a  thicket,  and  there  seated  them 
selves.     "You  have  been  unsuccessful,  Sinclair?" 
"  Wholly  so,  governor." 
"No  clues?" 

"  Non3,  sir !  I  followed  such  only  as  misled  me.  I  have 
not  the  the  slightest  idea  what  course  now  to  pursue.  I  have 
uo  traces  of  the  party,  and  no  plans." 


556  THE   FORAYSRS. 

"  Ideas,"  said  Rutledge,  cheerily,  "  do  not  obey  the  will ! 
They  come  without  premeditation.  You  may  not  have  thera 
to-night,  but  they  will  come  with  the  morning.  You  know  not 
how  wonderful  is  sleep,  in  giving  freedom  to  conjecture.  You 
are  exhausted.  You  have  not  slept;  —  with  such  a  state  of 
your  nervous  system,  to  think  would  be  impossible  " 

And  he  felt  the  pulse  of  the  dragoon  officer  as  he  spoke,  and 
looked  into  his  eyes. 

"  Your  nervous  system  is  cut  of  order.  You  have  neither 
slept  nor  supped.  You  must  do  both,  or  you  will  be  sick.  Your 
tone  is  enfeebled.  You  must  especially  exert  your  will,  if  you 
would  be  usefully  active.  Hear  me,  colonel  —  and  by  the  way, 
here  is  your  commission.  You  will  do  me  the  honor  to  accept 
this  proof  of  my  high  appreciation  of  your  recent  services." 

Sinclair  bowed  as  he  took  the  paper. 

"  Hear  me,  Sinclair.  You  are  physically  weak,  mentally 
suffering  —  morally  and  physically  prostrated.  If  you  do  not 
bring  up  your  body,  by  the  exercise  of  your  mind,  you  will 
have  fever  in  twenty -four  hours.  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you 
conceive  the  mischief  of  that  fever  ?  It  will  incapacitate  you 
for  this  search  after  the  Travis  family  !  I  have  set  my  heart 
on  this  search,  which  can  be  executed  by  nobody  so  well  as 
yourself.  That  damsel,  Bertha  Travis,  and  her  excellent 
mother,  succeeded  in  the  brief  meeting  which  I  had  with  them, 
in  twining  themselves  about  my  heart.  I  am  resolved  that 
you  shall  recover  them!  For  this  purpose,  anticipating  —  or 
holding  as  possible  —  your  present  failure,  I  obtained  General 
Marion's  consent  to  the  appropriation,  to  my  own  object,  of 
your  services  and  those  of  Captain  St.  Julien  with  his  troop. 
You  arc  to  enjoy  a  roving  commission  ;  moving  at  your  own  dis 
cretion,  and  only  required  to  co-operate  with  General  Sumter's 
command  when  occasion  offers.  Now,  my  dear  Sinclair,  unless 
you  assert  your  will,  for  the  benefit  of  your  body,  this  commis 
sion  will  be  of  no  value  in  your  hands.  You  will  be  on  your 
back,  prostrate  with  fever,  in  less  than  twenty -four  hours.  Now, 
it  is  useless  to  tell  a  man  that  he  must  feed,  or  physic,  rest,  or 
work,  if  hig  mind  does  not  spring  in  concert  with  the  counsel. 
I  tell  you  what  is  before  you  —  what  is  the  trust  given  to  your 
bands  —  what  is  the  danger  to  the  objects  which  you  love — ai)d 


SCENE   CLOSES   IN  CLOUD    AND   MYSTEliY.  557 

it  is  the  degree  of  force  that  we  can  accord  to  you  in  the 
"sedition  of  your  duties.  We  can  do  no  more.  Nobody  can 
<!<•'  more  foi  you.  You  must  do  the  rest  for  yourself.  Look  to 
the  danger  —  look  to  the  trust.  Let  your  mind  rise  to  the  exi 
gency,  and  you  will  grow  strong;  you  must  will  it  —  will  it  — 
and  sleep  and  eat,  under  the  will  which  demands  that  you  be 
strong.  These  ladies  you  can  rescue — -no  doubt  of  it  —  if  you 
give-^y  our  self  a  little  time,  and  work  with  heart.  Travis  you 
m.iy  rescue.  I  see  nothing  to  alarm  you  for  the  safety  of  either 
of  these  parties,  if  you  only  feel  what  you  have  to  do,  and  re 
solve  to  do  it  with  your  usual  promptness.  If  not  —  then  God 
be  merciful  to  this  poor  family,  for  they  are  all  in  a  most  serious 
danger." 

"All!  if  it  be  not  too  late,  sir!"  answered  Sinclair,  in 
choking  accents. 

"  We  -Ire  not  to  suppose  this  under  any  circumstances.  It  is 
sufficient  to  Jind  it  too  late.  The  very  fear  that  it  is  so,  is  apt 
to  enfeeble  the  exertion,  which  would  else  provide  the  remedy. 
But,  in  the  case  of  Travis  and  his  son,  it  can  not  be  too  late, 
we  know.  We  know  the  game  of  their  captor,  supposing  him 
to  be  Inglehardt.  His  profit  lies  in  keeping  the  secret  of 
Travis,  and  using  it  against  the  terrors  of  his  prisoner.  It  is 
only  when  he  finds  that  nothing  can  be  gained,  in  this  way,  that 
lie  will  betray  him.  Meanwhile,  we  may  be  very  sure  that 
Inglehardt  will  keep  father  and  son  as  secretly  as  safely.  He 
would  lose  all  hold  upon  the  family  were  they  surrendered  as 
prisoners  to  the  British.  He  has  the  two  somewhere  in  private 
bonds.  In  respect  to  Mrs.  Travis  and  her  daughter,  the  rapidity 
with  which  they  have  been  carried  off  is,  itself,  in  some  degree, 
proof  of  their  safety.  Brutality  and  outrage,  if  designed,  would 
be  perpetrated  instantly,  and  their  captors  would  not  have  bur 
dened  themselves  with  the  prisoners.  They  are  clearly  kept 
for  ransom;  and  this 'proves  that  they  have  been  taken  —  if 
taken  at  all  —  by  those  who  are  not  connected  with  the  regular 
service ;  some  outlying  bands  of  tories  :  and  we  know  that  there 
have  been  several  skulking  about  in  this  region.  There  has 
been  some  clever  trick  by  which  the  tracks  of  the  carriage  have 
been  concealed.  In  your  impetuosity,  you  have  probably  failed 
to  examine  the  ground  with  sufficient  care.  In  all  probability 


558 


THE   FORAYERS. 


there  has  been  some  route  across  the  Caw-caw  nearer  '.} 
one    at  which    you    crossed,  and   over  which  they  h.-r. 
taken.     It  is  not  impossible,  indeed,  that  they  have  era 
the  track  of  the  British  army,  and  have  gone  into  Orang'i 
"If  Ballon  were  here  !   or  even  'Brain  !"  said  Sinclair Sj 
And  he  mused,  and  speculated   aloud.     His  mind  ^V^^l 
wore  beginning  to  work,  under  the  practical  coercion* 
of  Rutledge.     The  latter  knew  quite  well  that  the  bo?'  r 
for  the  despondency  of  an  eager  mind,  is  new  responsi' 
provocation  —  and  lie  gave  it.     The  discussion  of  ; 
succeeded.     The  general  plan  of  the  raid  contemplated  }-> 
partisans  was  unfolded,  in  all  its  necessary  details,  for  Sinclair's 
information ;  and,  in  its  examination,  he  gradually  showed  to 
his  hearers  that  he  was  beginning  to  exert  that  will,  the  activ 
ity  of  which,  Rutledge  insisted,  was  necessary  to  keep  him  from 
prostration  by  disease.     At  length  Marion  said  : —       A 

"  Sinclair  knows  all  that  we  need  tell  him,  governor.  Let 
him  brood  to-night  —  what  there  is  left  of  it  —  over  what  he 
knows.  He  will  have  some  leisure  in  the  morning  also,  since 
none  of  the  mounted  men  will  take  up  the  linfc  of  march 
until  the  infantry  is  sufficiently  advanced.  We  must  keep  our 
ground  here,  and  cover  their  departure  from  the  enemy.  If 
Rawdon  marches  out  from  Orangeburg,  even  witli  all  the  force 
of  Cruger  added  to  his  own,  we  can  head  them  at  pleasure. 
Our  friend,  here,  will  have  need  to  think  for  the  next  twelve 
hours,  as  to  his  own  plan  of  operations.  In  that  time  he  may 
hear  from  his  scouts.  At  all  events,  whether  he  hears  or  not, 
his  policy  is  now  to  be  deliberate.  He  must  re-examine  the 
ground  where  the  carriage  was  concealed ;  and  to  do  this  thor 
oughly,  let  him  take  any  scout  he  pleases  from  my  command. 
Ballon,  if  he  comes  in  in  season,  is  worth  the  whole  of  them ; 
but  if  not,  there  are  many  who  ought  to  be  able  to  take  and 
keep  the  track  of  a  four-wheeled  carriage*drawn  by  four  horses. 
Let  us  leave  the  rest  to  him." 

The  army  moved  off  by  dawn,  leaving  the  mounted  men  and 
cavalry  to  cover  the  grouij^l  and  conceal  the  fact  of  their  depar 
ture.  They  did  not  move  a  moment  too  soon.  They  were  no 
longer  in  a  condition  to  be  usnfVl.  Two  thirds  of  the  conti- 


SCENE    CLOSES   IN    CLOUD    AND    MYSTEltY.  569 

' 

^  ^entals  were  sick ;  the  Virginia  militia  all  sick,  and  in  such  a 
I  pr  emper  of  despondency,  that  it  was  apprehended  they  would  all 
^abandon  the  camp  that  night,  and  disappear  homeward,  a  large 
number  having  already  deserted.     The  army  (foot)  had  become 
an  absolutely  disorderly  crew  —  demoralized  by  starvation,  want 
of  clothes,  and  the  exhaustion  of  forced  marches.     The  militia 
were  generally   discontent;  alleging,  in  justification,   the  par 
tiality  shown  to  the   continentals;  and,   especially,  the  petting 
of  particular   commands   at   the   expense   of  the   whole"  army, 
But,  leaving  them  to  their  progress,  which  brought  them  finally 
in   safety  to  their   salubrious  camp   upon  the  Santee  hills,  w< 
shall  linger  a  few  moments  in  that  of  the  partisans  —  the  mountei 
men,  who,  after  covering  the  retreat  of  the  infantry,  were  des 
lined  for  active  service  on  so  many  points  below. 

At  two  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of  the  13th  July,  the  army 
was  in  motion.  At  dawn,  the  general  followed  with  his  escort. 
So  well  did  the  mounted  men  cover  the  ground,  and  cut  off  all 
communications  with  Orangeburg,  that  Greene,  with  his  foot, 
beyond  the  Congaree  before  Rawdon  suspected  his  depart- 


was 
ure. 


Then  were  the  mounted  men  let  loose  upon  that  memorable 
incursion  into  the  Low  Country,  which  drove  the  scattered,  parties 
of  the  enemy  into  the  walls  of  Charleston,  and  prostrated  the 
royal  power  to  the  very  gates  of  that  city.  On  the  14th  July 
the  detachments  of  Sumter  were  sweeping  all  the  avenues  that 
led  below,  while  lie,  with  the  main  body,  was  pursuing  the 
road  along  the  southside  of  the  Congaree,  leading  to  the  east  of 
Cooper  river.  At  the  same  time,  Willie  Sinclair,  with  the 
troop  of  St.  Julien,  was  once  more  traversing,  with  Measured 
steps,  and  keen  scrutiny,  the  track  pursued  by  the  carriage  of 
Mrs.  Travis,  to  the  moment  when  it  turned  aside  for  temporary 
refuge  in  the  thicket.  Our  dramatis  persona  are  thus  "  all  at 


sea. 


Here,  a  curtain  falls,  for  the  present,  over  the  several  parties. 
There  is  a  necessary  interval  in  which  all  is  obscurity.     A  cloud 
-jnvelopes  the  fortunes  of  Travis  and  his  son  ;  a  mystery  wraps 
the  fate  of  his  wife  and  daughter.     But  the  pursuer  is  every 
where  upon  their  heels,  and  a  genius,  courage,  fortitude,  and 


,560  THE   FORAYERS, 

zeal,  which  arc  sure  to  recover  the  fugitives,  if  this  be  possible 
to  human  enterprise  **<!  endeavor !  Meanwhile,  the  two 
great  rivals,  the  generals  of  Britain  and  America,  are  making 
their  preparations  for  the  final  trial  of  strength  between  them. 
In  their  posts  of  watch  and  rest,  they  are  recruiting  their  forces 
and  bracing  their  sinews  for  the  last  wrestle  for  possession  of 
the  state.  Meanwhile,  the  partisans  are  in  motion,  prompt  in 
enterprise,  and  eager  for  performance.  The  details  of  their 
several  progresses  must  be  reserved  for  another  volume,  when 
we  shall  seek',  in  the  tale  of  the  bloody  field  of  "  Eutaw  "  to 

"  Ravel  out 
These  weaved-up  mysteries* 

Till  then,  we  pray  the  patience  of  such  readers  as  are  curious 
to  learn  the  fate  of  those  who  have  been  the  principal  objects 
3f  our  regard  in  the  preceding  chapters. 


THE    PND 


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